GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 


MANY  MOODS  AND  MANY  MINDS 


MANY  MOODS  AND 
MANY   MINDS    i  4  4 

A    BOOK    OF    POEMS     J»    o» 
LOUIS    JAMES    BLOCK  > 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY,  MCMVI 
LONDON:  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 


Copyright  1906 
By  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


Houu>  \  S  cr*n  —    H  a-»  v\    U\o  v  a.v  U 


T*«  Pttw^ten  Pr<«  Norwood  Mass. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CELESTIAL  MAIDEN         .         .         .         .                 .  i 

ILLUSIONS  PERDUES        .......  23 

FROM  OVER-MAN  TO  OVER-SOUL     .....  28 

A  Symphony 

RESISTANCE 44 

HOMER 44 

SONG  AND  POET     ........  55 

LOIN  DU  BAL  (Waltz  Movement  —  Gillett)  55 

THE  ARBITRATION  TREATY 61 

vE7rea  Hrepoevra 61 

IN  THE  AFTERNOON         .......  64 

THE  CHURCH 65 

ELEGY 68 

TWILIGHT      .........  69 

DESTINY  (South  Chicago,  Illinois.  —  The  Boy  Speaks)        .  69 

CIRCLES 73 

INSPIRATION            ........  75 

SONNETS  —     I.  The  Expedient 78 

II.   The  Just 78 

III.  The  Right 79 

JUSTIFICATION        ........  80 

AN  INDIAN  STORY           ...                  ...  84 

SOLACE 87 


PAGE 

SONNETS—     I.  Height 88 

II.  Distance 88 

III.  Life 89 

IV.  Love     .......  90 

ASSURANCE    .........  90 

DROWNED      .........  91 

SONNETS  —     I.  The  Orient 92 

II.  Judea 93 

III.  The  Occident 93 

OBSESSION 94 

FROM  UNDER  THE  BAN 97 

IRRESOLUTION         ........       99 

THE  FOUR  QUARTERS  OF  THE  YEAR         .         .         .         .     101 

A  FALSE  TRIUMPH          .         .         ...         .         .         .103 

REBOUND 104 

INCERTITUDE          ........     105 

SING,  O  BIRD 106 

SONNET 107 

LINES  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  •  108 

DIVIDED 109 

INFELIX no 

SONNET         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .no 

THE  SEVENTH  DAY        .         .         .-  .         .         .in 

A  WISH 112 

LIGHT  AS  AIR        .         .         .         .        .         .         .         .112 

NIGHT  AND  SEA     .         .         .         .         .        .         .         .114 

UNION 114 

COURAGE 116 

SPHERE-MUSIC 117 

WITH  A  BOOK 118 

COMMONPLACE        .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .119 

THE  IDEAL 119 

VIGIL 120 

vi 


REMORSE 121 

LULLABY 122 

EN  AVANT 123 

SONNET 123 

EPILOGUE 124 

A  PARTING 125 

ADMONITION 126 

SOLITUDE 127 

AT  THE  THEATRE 127 

OVER  THE  LAKE    ........  129 

ON  THE  HEIGHTS            .......  129 

ECHO 130 

THE  BELL 131 

ART  FOR  ART'S  SAKE      .         .         .         .         .         .         .132 

ON  THE  SEA 134 

INSIGHT         .........  134 

LOST     . 135 

THE  SIREN 136 

SONGS   .         .         . 142 

ASYMPTOTE    .         . 144 

UNEXPLAINED 144 

INDRA,  GOD  OF  THE  SKY         .         .         ...         .         .  145 

THREEFOLD            .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  147 

MOLL  PITCHER       ........  147 

FREEDOM  AND  THE  WEST 150 

ON  A  BOOK  OF  POEMS 151 

THE  WESTERN  MUSE     .         . 152 

FOR  A  CHILD 155 

THE  MOUNTAINEER        .......  156 


vi  1 


PRELUDE 

Suave  spirits  of  the  dim  sweet  days  departed, 
Dreams  that  made  glad  the  luminous  past, 

I  see  you  rise  before  me  fervour-hearted, 
And  know  you  as  you  are  at  last; 

The  hopes  that  heard  the  earlier  praise, 

The  light  that  rilled  the,  fleet-foot  days, 

Waken  and  shine  once  more  within  me, 
And  the  clear  splendours  once  more  win  me. 

Desires  and  joys,  elusive  apparitions, 

Wing  towards  me  in  swift  musical  flight, 

And  do  not  chide  me  for  the  vain  omissions 
That  dusked  their  heyday  into  night; 

The  forms  and  flames  of  vanished  songs 

Fleet  round  me  in  alluring  throngs, 
The  magic  of  the  insights  gifted 
With  power  to  see  Time's  vapours  lifted. 

So  my  rapt  conscience  can  at  length  discover 

Your  purpose  to  attend  the  sun, 
And  call  you  back  from  deepening  glooms  that  hover 

On  the  sheer  brink  of  the  foredone; 
ix 


Forth  then  from  realms  of  night  and  sleep, 

Whether  it  be  to  smile  or  to  weep, 

Break  the  eclipse  that  has  held  and  bound  you, 
Breathe  once  again,  light  is  around  you. 

There  where  the  mighty  morning  star  resplendent 

Sings  in  the  ever  brightening  sky, 
There  where  man's  hope  has  victory  for  attendant, 

There  where  the  day  grows  white  on  high, 
Make  your  obedient  voices  blend 
With  the  chorus  that  shall  know  not  end, 

Lost  in  the  great  and  golden  glory 

Which  is  the  World's  triumphant  story. 


MANY  MOODS  AND  MANY 
MINDS 

THE  CELESTIAL  MAIDEN 

Clearest  of  singers  that  our  land  has  borne, 
If  I  have  ventured  in  the  realm  where  you 
Are  master  of  the  rainfall  and  the  dew, 

The  night's  white  stars  and  colours  of  the  morn. 

Grasses  and  blooms  the  sky-stretched  plains  have  worn, 
Sorrows  and  joys  the  forest-tracker  knew, 
And  all  the  messages  the  four  winds  blew, 

And  simpler  mans  vast  hopes,  and  mighty  scorn\  — 

//  I  have  ventured  underneath  those  boughs 

Which  your  warm  breath  will  keep  alive  forever, 

And  sing  again  one  song  that  I  heard  there, 
Surely  through  spirit  space  that  this  allows, 
Tour  unaverted  soul  will  hear,  —  and  never 
To  any  man  came  a  reward  more  fair. 

Lonely  in  the  glimmering  twilight, 
By  the  slowly  dying  fireside, 
Holding  in  his  palms  his  forehead, 
Sat  young  Waupee  in  his  woe. 

I 


All  about  the  trees  of  autumn 
Lifted  up  their  leafless  branches, 
,And.th.e.  winds  went  dully  moaning 
'•'•.Roun'cf  £.Be  •solitary  lodge. 
•  •  •  .•  ••:  •••••: :    :  •*•  *  '; 

•  •    •»£••*•     ••••        «   «c«    «    , 

'far 'away  from  friends  and  kindred, 
Merry  sounds  of  children's  voices, 
Cheerful  singing  of  the  maidens, 
And  the  games  of  rugged  braves, 

Deep  within  the  trackless  forest, 
Where  the  wild  deer  stalked  unhunted, 
And  the  loud  birds  woke  the  echoes, 
Waupee  had  decreed  to  dwell. 

Grim  and  grievous  were  the  visions, 
Passing  on  his  mind's  wide  prairie, 
Shadows  of  the  toils  before  him, 
Pictures  of  the  tasks  undone. 

Yet  across  his  night  of  sorrow 
Stole  one  star  of  softest  lustre, 
Beamed  as  does  the  star  of  evening, 
Clear  and  gracious,  full  of  hope. 

Six  long  moons  had  gone  in  silence, 
Since  young  Waupee,  strong  in  battle, 
Best  and  bravest  of  the  bravest, 
Had  abandoned  all  he  loved. 


One  deep  night  as  he  was  straying, 
Breathing  in  the  airs  of  Maytime, 
Through  the  prairie's  green  expansion, 
On  his  soul  there  came  a  dream. 

Not  a  murmur  broke  the  stillness 
Save  the  rustling  of  the  grasses, 
Far  on  high  the  stars  smiled  faintly, 
Tender  moonbeams  kissed  the  clouds. 

Subtle  bursts  of  unknown  joyance 
Stirred  the  limbs  of  brooding  Waupee, 
Thrills  of  some  strange  expectation, 
Change  divine  to  all  his  life. 

Lately  had  the  thirst  of  battle, 
Fierce  delight  of  war  and  conquest, 
Thunderous  music  of  the  war-cries, 
Wakened  horror  in  his  soul. 

Also  had  the  smiles  of  maidens, 
Lighting  up  their  dusky  faces, 
Bursting  moonwise  from  their  eyelids, 
Cloud-like  veils  of  eyes'  sweet  fire, 

Purest  tones  of  their  low  voices, 
Lithe,  quick  ways  in  sport  and  dancing, 
And  the  pathos  of  their  weeping 
Seemed  dissevered  from  his  life. 

3 


On  his  heart  had  risen  a  longing, 
To  his  thought  had  come  a  splendour, 
Strange  devotedness  and  holy, 
Omen  clear  and  beautiful. 

Hence  he  loved  the  midnight  prairies, 
Searched  the  forest's  dark  recesses, 
Climbed  the  lofty  mountain-summits 
Where  the  winds  blew  fresh  and  cold. 

Though  the  braves  with  rudest  clamour 
Had  disturbed  his  meditations, 
Scorned  his  womanish  demeanour, 
Laughed  to  note  his  pallid  face, 

Yet  while  frolic  winsome  Maytime 
Clad  with  leaves  the  waking  woodland, 
Bade  the  birds  begin  their  carols, 
Loosened  streams  to  shine  and  flow, 

Through  the  long  night  wandered  Waupee, 
While  the  growing  grasses  rustled, 
Underneath  the  lovely  starshine 
Dancing  round  the  moon's  thin  curve. 

On  his  thought's  dark  wind-swept  ocean 
Suddenly  there  shone  a  mighty 
Radiance  of  a  heavenly  glory 
Silvering  all  its  waves  to  rest. 

4 


Lo!  his  eyes'  rapt  gaze  turned  upward 
Where  a  clear  star  beamed  and  glittered 
Softly  as  if  tears  of  pity 
Veiled  its  lustre  white  and  pure. 

Forth  he  stretched  his  arms  in  anguish 
Unto  answering  god  or  goddess, 
Prayed  for  succour  and  for  guidance, 
For  the  passing  of  his  pain. 

Can  his  burning  eyes  deceive  him  ? 
Or  his  leaping  heart  speak  falsely? 
Can  the  thrill  that  shakes  his  body 
Hold  no  message  high  and  sweet  ? 

Nay,  he  finds  the  star  descending, 
Nay,  he  sees  its  burnished  lustre 
Fill  the  wood  with  gradual  brightness, 
And  his  soul  with  sudden  hope. 

Nearer  comes  the  star  and  nearer; 
Hark!  a  voice  uplifts  sweet  singing 
From  its  heart  of  mist-like  lucence 
Fraught  with  noble  joy  of  peace. 

In  a  cloud  of  silver  brightness 
He  beholds  a  wondrous  vision 
That  with  mystical  enchantment 
Calms  the  tumult  of  his  breast. 

5 


In  a  chariot  of  pale  moonbeams 
Drawn  by  tall  deer,  lightning-winged, 
Pawing  into  foamy  radiance 
All  the  dream-floor  where  they  stood, 

Sat  a  maiden  whose  divineness 
Shook  his  soul  with  nameless  longings, 
Woke  to  life  from  deepest  slumber 
Hopes  that  long  ago  seemed  dead; 

As  though  all  his  aspirations, 
All  his  passionate  conscious  strivings, 
All  the  spirit's  upward  climbings, 
All  the  heart's  strange  inmost  life, 

Had  put  on  sweet  form  and  body, 
And  appeared  in  living  brightness, 
Answer  to  his  patient  seeking, 
Beauty  noble,  perfect,  clear. 

As  across  the  reach  of  marshes 
Flits  the  faintly  flickering  fen-fire 
Like  a  restless  bird  in  springtime, 
Making  brief  pause  here  and  there, 

So  the  cloud  of  brilliance  wavered, 
Touched  the  low  transfigured  grasses, 
Veered  awhile  in  curves  capricious, 
Came  to  rest  where  Waupee  sat. 
6 


Silent  was  the  voice  whose  singing 
Had  fulfilled  the  listening  night-time 
With  the  strange  and  mystic  music, 
Voicings  of  high  prophecies. 

Slowly  then  the  maid  descended, 
Stood  before  the  tranced  Waupee, 
Gazed  with  eyes  of  love  and  pity 
Downward  on  his  lifted  face. 

Tall  her  body  was  and  stately, 
And  her  spirit  through  its  vestment 
Bursting  in  soft  light  purpureal 
Girt  her  with  an  aureole. 

From  her  forehead  silver  feathers 
Swept  her  hair  of  dusky  glory 
As  though  light  should  cast  a  shadow 
In  the  midst  of  lighter  light. 

To  her  knees  her  gleaming  kirtle 
Fell  in  folds  of  molten  sapphire; 
Leggings  of  the  palest  amber 
Shone  above  her  moccasins. 

Waupee  gazed  in  rapt  amazement 
On  the  gently  smiling  maiden; 
All  the  storm  of  his  emotions 
Burst  in  one  long,  heavy  sigh. 

7 


Knowledge,  heavenly,  sure,  and  blissful, 
Touched  his  soul  with  revelation; 
Search  had  reached  its  noble  ending, 
Quest  had  gained  its  farthest  goal. 

Forth  he  stretched  involuntary 
Arms  of  long  expectant  passion 
Toward  her  as  she  stood  before  him; 
Silent  yet  were  those  fair  lips. 

Then  her  smile's  illumination 
Lit  her  face  with  tender  yearning; 
Low  in  tones  of  mystic  music 
Came  her  words  unto  his  ear: 

As  though  his  own  soul  had  spoken, 
And  his  truest  thought  had  murmured 
In  a  solitude  mysterious 
All  the  secrets  of  his  life. 

"Not  in  vain,  O  noble  Waupee, 
Are  thy  cries  and  aspirations, 
Cries  unto  the  Mighty  Spirit, 
Cries  for  guidance,  cries  for  rest. 

"He  has  heard  thee  in  the  night-time, 
Calling  on  him  from  the  darkness, 
He  has  heard  thy  sad  complainings, 
And  has  sent  me  unto  thee. 
8 


"In  the  land  of  the  Eternal, 

In  the  region  of  the  Spirit, 

I  have  seen  thee  and  have  loved  thee, 

I  am  come  to  bring  thee  peace. 

"Therefore  listen  to  my  sayings; 
Not  yet  ended  is  thy  labour, 
Nor  completed  the  endeavour 
Whereunto  thine  hand  is  set. 

"Thou  must  go  unto  thy  fellows 
And  subdue  the  bitter  war  cries, 
Thou  must  mould  their  cruel  rudeness 
Into  nobler  forms  of  life. 

"Thou  must  help  the  groaning  women 
And  uplift  the  weeping  children, 
Thou  must  turn  to  peaceful  toiling 
All  the  energies  of  war. 

"I  will  ever  be  beside  thee; 
When  the  distant  village  slumbers 
I  will  come  and  sing  before  thee 
Melodies  of  realms  divine. 

"When  the  long,  long  toil  is  over 
I  will  bear  thee  in  my  chariot, 
O  my  loved  one,  O  my  husband, 
Upward,  homeward,  far  with  me." 
9 


Ah,  one  rapturous,  holiest  instant, 
Waupee  held  her  to  his  bosom, 
Pressed  upon  her  lips  his  kisses; 
Then  she  gently  freed  herself, 

Slowly  stept  into  her  chariot, 
Smiled  upon  him  as  he  watched  her, 
Pointed  to  the  distant  village, 
Floated  upward  to  the  stars. 

Waupee  knew  the  cloud  receding, 
Saw  it  gain  its  lofty  station, 
Then  distraught  with  joy  and  passion, 
Swooning  fell  upon  the  ground. 

When  he  woke  from  his  deep  slumber, 
Found  his  mind  and  hope  returning, 
Down  he  tore  the  lonely  wigwam, 
Wildly  fared  upon  his  way; 

One  last  moment  turned  to  westward, 
Gazed  upon  the  silver  splendid 
Shining  of  his  loved  one's  mansion, 
Poured  a  deep-voiced  prayer  to  her. 

Far  into  the  mighty  forest 
Sped  his  swift  unconscious  footsteps, 
Driven  by  a  force  of  feeling 
Past  resistance,  past  his  will. 
10 


Wondrous  movements  thrilled  him  wildly, 
Storms  swept  through  his  inmost  soul-deeps, 
Higher  potencies  and  nobler 
Warred  upon  the  things  of  old. 

Where  the  warriors  came  least  often, 
And  the  wilderness  had  hearkened 
Scarce  one  sound  of  human  voices, 
Waupee  lived  the  conflict  through. 

Sometimes  in  the  awful  struggle 
Mad  despair  sat  near  and  whispered 
Hopeless  words  and  mockings  subtle 
While  his  very  heart  stood  still. 

Lo!  when  night  came,  calm  and  solemn, 
Shone  his  silver  star  to  westward, 
Songs  divine  and  sweet  with  solace 
Brought  his  soul  to  rest  and  peace. 

Thus  the  moons  sped  on  and  vanished, 
And  the  morns  passed  into  evenings, 
Summer  fled  with  flower  and  leafage, 
Autumn  waned  with  flame  and  fruit. 

Cheerless  were  the  chilly  evenings, 
Leafless  were  the  trees  and  barren, 
All  the  winds  went  sadly  moaning 
Round  the  solitary  lodge. 
II 


Lonely  in  the  glimmering  twilight, 
By  the  slowly  dying  fireside, 
Holding  in  his  palms  his  forehead 
Sat  young  Waupee  in  his  woe. 

Had  he  been  abandoned,  thwarted, 
Did  she  find  him  weak,  unworthy, 
Was  the  toil  too  sharp  and  mighty, 
Being  left  for  later  days  ? 

Nay,  like  sunshine  on  the  waters 
Waking  them  to  joy  and  splendour, 
Filling  ripples  with  swift  glory, 
Came  decision  on  his  soul. 

Fled  the  phantoms  and  the  darkness, 
Passed  the  conflict  and  the  sorrow, 
Truth  descended  and  possessed  him, 
Held  him  for  a  child  and  heir. 

Never  more  should  doubt  and  trembling 
Seize  him  in  their  angry  clutches, 
Tear  his  thought  into  confusion, 
Flaunt  the  fragments  mockingly. 

Joy  and  strength  and  resolution 
Made  his  heart  their  home  and  dwelling, 
Sent  him  forth  to  noblest  action, 
Gave  into  his  grasp  the  deed. 

12 


Then  he  rose  with  lifted  forehead, 
Strong,  erect,  and  sure  of  conquest, 
Girt  his  loosened  belt  about  him, 
Raised  his  hands  unto  the  skies. 

Suddenly  she  stood  before  him, 
Maiden  of  his  love  and  longing, 
Shone  in  more  celestial  brightness, 
Heavenlier,  gentlier,  lovelier. 

Not  a  word  her  soft  lips  uttered, 
But  she  smiled  upon  him  gazing, 
And  she  pointed  to  the  pathway 
Seldom  trod  by  foot  of  man, 

Leading  to  the  distant  village 
Where  were  Waupee's  life  and  labour, 
Motioned  once  again  and  vanished, 
Shone  to  westward  as  his  star. 

All  that  night  and  yet  another 
Through  the  dark  primeval  forest 
Waupee  traveled,  and  the  morning 
Rose  upon  the  village  near. 

Waupee  made  no  sign  nor  answer 
To  the  eager  questioning  warriors, 
Went  to  his  deserted  wigwam, 
Girt  him  for  the  needed  toil. 
13 


So  the  days  and  weeks  proceeded; 
Soon  the  rugged  warriors  noticed 
Something  changed  in  Waupee's  features, 
Something  strange  and  wonderful. 

So  they  dared  not  vex  with  clamour 
His  continual  meditations, 
Forced  to  wait  in  marveling  silence 
What  the  end  of  all  might  be. 

Like  the  countenance  of  a  prophet, 
Holy,  thoughtful,  pale  and  patient, 
Waupee's  face  had  grown  to  beauty 
Passing  that  of  mortal  men. 

Low  his  voice  was,  full  of  music, 
Like  the  sighing  of  the  breezes 
When  across  the  solemn  forest 
Midnight  weaves  her  starry  spell. 

Every  night  he  called  the  children, 
Brought  them  to  his  lodge  and  told  them 
Stories  of  their  fathers'  prowess, 
Tales  of  heroes'  manliness. 

Also  legends  of  the  woodland, 
Fairy  lore  and  dreams  fantastic, 
Words  that  held  the  sense  like  music 
Winged  the  twilight's  silver  flight. 


Lo!  as  shines  the  moon  at  night-time, 
Silver  with  imperial  lustre, 
Through  the  stories*  woof  etherial 
Gleamed  one  meaning,  soft  and  clear. 

Patience,  hope,  and  long  endurance, 
Tender  love  of  man  and  nature, 
Like  a  golden  theme  in  music 
Ever  sounded  through  the  deep 

Flow  of  tales  that  caught  the  moaning 
Winds  struck  from  the  trees  in  autumn, 
And  the  merry,  flashing  tinkling 
Made  by  rivulets  in  spring. 

So  the  children  grew  more  gentle, 
Rude,  rough  boys  beheld  in  maidens 
Something  sweeter,  holier,  higher 
Than  the  savage  sports  they  loved. 

Like  a  tender  rain  in  summer 
Come  to  freshen  all  the  meadows, 
Some  new  influence  stealing  on  them 
Woke  the  seeds  of  faith  and  love. 

Soon  as  creep  the  twilight  shadows, 
Lengthening,  lengthening  down  the  landscape, 
Waupee's  stories  reached  the  elders, 
Found  the  thoughtless  painted  braves. 
15 


Nor  did  they  disdain  to  listen 
Round  the  winter's  blazing  fireside 
When  the  wondrous  revelations 
Broke  the  silence  of  the  night. 

Thus  the  days  and  months  passed  swiftly 
While  the  tribe  beheld  their  prophet, 
And  the  men  knew  well  their  saviour 
In  the  young  enthusiast. 

When  the  spring  again  with  sunshine 
Filled  the  leaf-garmented  forests, 
Waupee  taught  to  mete  the  cornfields, 
Set  the  labourers  to  their  toil. 

Women,  mothers,  no  more  burthened 
With  their  heavy  tasks  and  thankless, 
Sat  beside  the  wigwams  singing, 
Wove  their  mats  in  peacefulness. 

Like  a  world  new-born  from  chaos 
All  the  village  bloomed  in  beauty, 
Where  the  people  dwelt  in  joyance, 
And  the  days  were  full  of  sun. 

Never  had  such  plenteous  harvests 
Visited  those  rocky  regions; 
Never  had  such  happy  quiet 
Come  upon  them  from  above. 
16 


Thus  the  days  and  months  passed  swiftly; 
Waupee  felt  his  labours  prosper, 
Saw  his  toilings  like  young  fruit-trees 
Laden  with  the  golden  spoil. 

Soon  the  neighbouring  tribes  in  envy 
Looked  upon  the  prosperous  nation, 
Sought  to  rouse  by  wide-winged  trespass 
War's  loud  tumult  in  the  land. 

Like  a  king  of  men  young  Waupee 
Strode  between  the  angered  rivals, 
Like  a  prophet  out  of  Heaven 
Bound  them  in  strong  bonds  of  peace. 

Thus  the  influence  softly  spreading 
Like  the  meaning  through  sweet  music, 
Or  the  sunlight's  yellow  splendour 
Through  the  clear  expanse  of  air, 

Sped  from  nation  unto  nation, 
Swept  a  mighty  undercurrent 
Through  the  rude  and  untamed  spirits, 
Built  a  new  world  in  the  old. 

Like  a  forest  in  the  springtime, 
Joyous,  gold-green  in  the  sunshine, 
Voiced  with  birds  and  streamlets  singing, 
Smiled  upon  by  cloudless  skies, 


Like  a  yellow  wind-swept  wheat  field, 
Visible  laughter  and  responsive 
To  the  noontide's  flooding  lightness, 
All  the  treaty-making  tribes 

Burst  into  a  nobler  growing, 
Felt  the  rising  of  their  spirits 
Swift  matured  to  glorious  harvest, 
Fruits  of  patience,  hope,  and  love. 

Waupee  saw  the  fair  fruition 
Poured  forth  of  propitious  Heaven 
Like  a  sea  of  mellow  moonlight 
Sweeping  from  behind  the  clouds. 

Soon  would  come  unto  his  longings, 
Give  herself  to  his  embraces, 
Gladden  all  his  life  forever 
That  strange  maiden  whom  he  loved. 

Well  fulfilled  had  been  her  promise, 
All  unbroken  been  the  guidance 
Which  her  mighty  words  and  presence 
Had  made  live  within  his  soul. 

Through  the  long  and  frozen  winter 
She  had  come  into  his  wigwam 
When  the  stilly  power  of  midnight 
Held  the  village  bound  in  sleep. 
18 


Through  the  green  and  rustling  summer 
She  had  met  him  in  the  forest 
When  no  bird  his  tale  was  singing, 
Words  of  love  for  waiting  ear. 

She  had  grown  his  breath  of  being, 
He  had  felt  his  soul  uplifted 
Into  regions  of  emotion 
Past  his  utmost  dream  of  life. 

Every  night  the  splendid  vision 
Grew  more  winning  and  more  gracious; 
Waupee  felt  his  body's  bondage 
Loosening  slowly  from  his  soul. 

Thus  the  days  and  months  passed  swiftly, 
While  the  land  waxed  rich  and  fruitful, 
And  the  nation,  great  and  mighty, 
Ruled  with  mild  and  wide-spread  sway. 

Oft  the  lovely  Indian  maidens 
Gazed  upon  the  youthful  Waupee, 
And  his  pale  illumined  features 
Woke  sweet  hopes  within  their  breasts. 

One  girl,  young  and  tall  and  shapely, 
Hung  upon  his  faintest  accent, 
Saw  his  aims  with  angel  clearness, 
Felt  her  life  commixed  with  his. 

19 


At  his  feet  she  sat  and  listened 
While  he  told  his  tales  and  wonders, 
Caught  his  gift  and  power  of  vision, 
Knew  herself  a  prophetess. 

As  a  father  trains  a  daughter, 
Or  a  seer  his  chief  disciple, 
On  whose  shoulder  falls  his  mantle, 
Waupee  held  her  dear  to  him. 

Therefore  when  his  summons  sounded, 
Waupee  woke  her  from  her  slumber, 
Whispered  her  to  rise  and  follow 
Where  his  footsteps  led  the  way. 

Tremblingly  she  stood  beside  him, 
Saw  around  the  lonesome  prairie, 
Watched  him  gazing  up  to  westward 
Where  his  star  shone,  pure  and  clear. 

Tremblingly  she  felt  the  splendour 
Slow  descending  from  its  station, 
Knew  the  glorious  spirit  maiden, 
Heard  the  music  of  her  voice. 

Then  a  sudden  agitation 
Seized  upon  the  silent  Waupee, 
All  his  body  shook  and  quivered, 
Lips  and  cheeks  grew  deadly  pale. 
20 


Finally  a  cry  escaped  him 
As  he  fell  upon  the  greensward, 
Moveless  lay  his  face  illumined, 
Brightened  in  the  mystic  glow. 

Lo!  just  poised  upon  his  forehead 
Like  a  bird  in  air  self-balanced, 
Clad  in  light  and  looking  upward, 
Stood  the  new  enfranchised  soul. 

Like  a  cloud  across  the  snow-clad 
Peak  of  some  untrodden  mountain, 
Like  a  slow,  majestic  planet 
Sweeping  down  the  sky's  steep  curve, 

Towards  its  joy  the  pure  soul  floated, 
Entered  on  its  new  possession, 
Clasped  its  love  in  long  embraces, 
Reached  the  end  of  all  its  strife. 

Then  did  Waupee  turn  and  utter 
To  the  kneeling  Indian  maiden 
Words  of  trust  and  consolation, 
Filling  her  great  heart  with  joy. 

"Thou  shalt  take,  O  maid,  upon  thee 
This  large  labour  and  endeavour, 
Well  begun  amid  the  people, 
Furthered  from  the  gods  above. 

21 


"I  will  ever  be  beside  thee, 
Giving  faith  and  certain  guidance, 
I  will  teach  thee  words  of  wisdom, 
Smoothing  well  thy  rugged  way. 

"Also  say  unto  the  people, 

Here  where  they  will  find  my  body, 

Do  I  wish  it  should  be  buried 

At  the  middle  time  of  night." 

Slowly,  —  slowly  rose  the  vision, 
Lessened  on  the  pauseless  gazer, 
Found  its  home  among  its  sisters, 
Glowed  among  the  mild-eyed  stars. 

Never  knew  the  weeping  seeress 

How  she  reached  the  neighbouring  village, 

When  she  told  her  tale  of  sorrow, 

Or  they  found  the  body  cold. 

Yet  at  once  she  took  upon  her 
Duties  lofty,  and  commanded 
Where  the  body  should  be  buried, 
What  new  rites  should  be  observed. 

Willingly  obeyed  the  people, 
Understood  her  right  of  message, 
Called  her  prophetess  and  holy, 
Let  her  sway  them  till  her  death. 
22 


For  his  grave  a  mound  they  builded 
Where  the  longest  grasses  flourished, 
And  the  wild  bees  came  and  pastured, 
While  the  birds  sang  roundelays. 

Here  the  chieftains  made  their  treaties, 
Mighty  sachems  held  sage  councils, 
And  the  name  and  fame  of  Waupee 
Wrought  unceasing  miracles. 

Here  the  mothers  brought  their  children, 
Told  the  tale  through  all  their  weeping 
How  the  patient,  toiling  Waupee 
Brought  divinest  peace  to  men. 

As  the  years  passed  on  and  perished, 
Waupee's  name  and  mystic  story 
Filled  the  land  as  subtle  fragrance 
Permeates  the  summer  air. 

So  his  life  and  high  example 
Stole  into  men's  minds  and  longings, 
Till  the  spirit  of  dead  Waupee 
Was  the  spirit  of  the  land. 

ILLUSIONS  PERDUES 

As  fall  the  apple  blossoms  with  the  wind, 

Or  frost-burned  leaves  float  down  the  autumn  air, 

Or  past-blown  petals  star  the  thickening  grass, 

23 


Pale  dreams  speed  from  me,  visions  of  great  joys, 

Strong  hopes  of  high  achievement,  passioned  loves 

That  craved  the  whole  of  ecstasy,  and  sights 

Of  Truths  that  underprop  the  Universe. 

I  soared  the  illimitable  ether,  sailed 

The  midmost  seas,  held  to  my  answering  breast 

The  might  of  untamed  storms,  and  lightly  sped 

From  glow  to  glow  across  the  narrow  stream 

Of  endless  space,  and  in  the  rush  of  Time 

Clove  the  wave-centuries  as  one  who  stems 

The  river's  tide  that  haunts  his  youth's  thin  wood. 

Whither  have  they  all  flown,  not  birds  of  earth, 

Unclassed  of  mortal  mind,  and  singing  songs 

Which  whoso  heard  took  all  his  soul  perforce 

And  gave  him  strength  to  climb  steep  paths  to  heaven. 

I  stand  alone  beneath  the  silent  night, 

And  find  the  sweet  winds  at  their  softened  play, 

And  know  that  star  responds  to  distant  star 

With  silver  beams  of  love,  and  inland  hear 

The  unresting  croon  divine  the  great  sea  sounds 

In  ear  of  earth,  his  dullard  paramour. 

Yea,  all  the  silence  thrills  with  lover's  bliss, 

Too  deep  for  words,  too  wondrous  glad  for  day's 

Most  manifold  lucent  knowledges  that  pierce 

The  mysteries  profaned  by  alien  presence, 

Even  the  sun's;  the  symphony  sweeps  the  void 

And  bathes  the  rolling  earth  in  voiceless  sound, 

Holds  sure  within  its  scope  the  energy 

That  builjds  all  shapes  throughout  the  reach  of  time, 

24 


And  joins  them  by  the  noblest,  deepest  stress 

Into  the  miracle  of  their  unity, 

Bringing  whatso  there  be  of  thought  and  power 

Into  one  fair  creation,  marvellous  birth 

Of  architectural  splendour,  mass  on  mass 

Of  dream-cathedral's  wide-embracing  walls; 

And  as  I  hearken,  the  silent  sound  is  changed 

To  viewless  sight,  imagination's  rule 

And  sceptred  right  upon  the  whole,  the  world 

And  life  both  music  and  the  fluctuant  form 

Which  interchangeably  and  yet  in  one 

Grasp  the  full  spheres  of  mind  and  sense;  I  see 

That  great  cathedral  beyond  time  and  space 

With  souls  for  elements  of  its  structure,  God 

Its  potence  and  support;  I  see  aloft 

Its  pinnacles  piercing  some  clear  blue,  I  see 

On  painted  ceiling  or  amid  the  maze 

Of  carvings  multiform  desires  and  deeds, 

Saints  haloed  by  the  vision  of  rapt  prayer, 

Flowers  spreading  upward,  and  each  petal  tense 

With  touch  of  Heaven's  transfiguring  finger,  see 

The  windowed  glory  for  the  blest  to  dwell  in, 

When  earth  has  shrivelled  like  a  scroll  in  flame, 

And  spirit  thrills  and  conquers  everywhere, 

Unspeakable  guerdon  to  each  waiting  heart 

Of  gift  he  grandly  longs  for;  but  I  hear 

No  woven  tones  of  separate  singing  sweet 

Individualized  for  high  behoof 

Of  my  fixed  joyance  sound  to  break  the  ice 

25 


Beneath  which  flows,  or  flows  not,  what  of  me 
Remains  from  the  dead  past,  nor  coigne  nor  niche 
Sustains  figure  or  script  which  is  mine  own 
Or  thought  of  my  deep  self.     So  am  I  torn 
From  large  participation  in  the  bliss 
That  is  the  daily  fare  of  other  men; 
So  do  I  stand  and  muse  upon  the  years 
Which  were  far  other  when  bird  after  bird 
Sought  passage  from  the  nest  of  my  charged  soul 
And  brought  in  swift  return  what  yet  the  fields 
And  woods  or  peopled  wilds  of  homes  of  men 
Had  there  to  offer.     So  I  strove  to  build 
A  chapel's  charm  for  whoso  list  to  come 
And  pass  from  golden  pleasure  to  delight 
And  feel  how  delicate  love  bore  up  his  feet 
Or  gave  him  wings  to  soar  new  spaces  sown 
With  stars  of  mine  own  making;  these  the  truth 
Garmented  in  firm  light  to  shine  afar 
Through  lingering  dark  of  faith  and  fill  with  sun 
More  sunlike  than  the  sun,  the  light  of  heaven 
Mixed  with  the  light  of  home,  the  friendly  ray 
Which  surely  dwells  within  life's  multitude 
And  yet  stays  hidden  till  the  appointed  touch 
Frees  it  to  aureole.     Lost  in  the  vast 
My  labour  smoulders,  heat  and  fire  enough 
To  show  a  purpose  urgent,  —  that  is  all. 
Forth  of  mine  eyes  has  gone  the  sighted  strength 
Born  of  soul-perceant  passion  that  engirt 
The  morning  with  a  dream-like  loveliness 

26 


Past  Nature's  highest  of  giving;  from  my  heart 

Has  fled  the  pathos  that  made  ceaseless  tears 

Dropt  from  the  lids  of  time  my  suffering's  symbol 

And  expiatory  pain  of  me  to  rid 

All  sorrow  of  its  anguish,  being  built 

Into  my  house  of  beauty;  fled  from  my  thought 

The  cunning  of  the  secret  of  the  Spring, 

Sweet  re-creator  of  the  fair  and  lost, 

As  if  it  had  not  been  and  could  not  be, 

Has  found  a  grave  in  lands  unfindable. 

And  you,  O  brain,  that  wont  to  strive  and  toil 

In  tenuous  ravelling  of  the  spirit  mesh 

Which  holds  the  universe  within  its  filminess, 

Fall  from  your  height,  and  sink  into  the  dusk 

Of  faded  flame.     So  have  they  left  me  lone, 

And  like  a  tree  disleaved  and  desolate, 

Weighed    down    by   winter's    heaviest    snows,    and 

swayed 

At  random  by  the  myriad-counselled  winds, 
I  stand  and  wonder  if  some  latter  Time 
Will  woo  me  into  heart  and  hope  again. 


FROM    OVER-MAN    TO    OVER-SOUL 

A   SYMPHONY 


ALLEGRO  APPASSIONATO 

The  Over-Man  s  Hopes  and  Fears. 

All  is  but  a  dream  and  vision, 

All  is  built  around  the  centre 

Which  am  I; 

Nothing  alien  can  ascend  nor  enter 

Into  my  being's  sky; 

I  hold  it  but  a  mockery  and  derision 

To  bend  the  neck  to  any  commander, 

Since  to  his  great  I  can  oppose  a  greater  and  a 

grander. 

I  am  the  secret  of  the  wondrous  story, 
Mingled  of  misery  and  of  glory, 
Which  has  gone  roaring  down  the  ages 
With  rare  brief  calms  and  mighty  rages. 
Nay,  tell  me  not  of  any  sovereign  lord, 
Whatever  name  be  given  to  him, 
I  can  confront  him  with  a  nobler  sword, 
And  all  his  majesty  pales  to  dim 
Before  the  leap  and  storm  of  lightening 
Which  speeds  throughout  my  spirit  brightening. 

28 


Whatso  can  be  told  of  height 

Makes  a  line  to  be  transcended, 

But  in  me  the  depth  of  right 

Finds  an  end  which  never  can  be  ended. 

The  flight  of  the  Spirit  is  boldly  taken, 
From  point  to  point  of  its  rapt  devotion; 
No  joy  and  no  hope  shall  be  forsaken, 
Caught  in  the  sweep  of  its  marvellous  motion; 

These  joys  and  hopes  are  my  principal  glory, 
Their  passion  part  of  my  gradual  story, 
I  see  them  all  as  from  a  promontory 
The  flakes  of  fire  that  arise  and  waken 
With  the  wind  that  dies  on  the  breast  of  the  ocean. 

Bliss  is  it  thus  to  be  the  creator 
Of  all  the  worlds  that  are  or  may  be, 

Rising  with  the  moments  grander  and  greater  — 
Whithersoever  the  end  or  the  way  be  - 

Into  fuller  and  stronger  possession, 
Past  the  need  of  reserve  or  repression, 
Forth  from  the  bonds  or  glooms  of  confession, 
Actor  at  once  and  the  act's  dissipator, 
Fearless  of  what  shall  the  voice  of  the  Nay  be. 

So  do  we  know  indeed  what  the  whole  is, 
Feeling  ourselves  its  aim  and  its  inmost, 

Always  at  one  with  what  the  true  goal  is, 
Always  the  lives  who  soar  and  who  win  most, 

29 


Nay,  not  many,  I  dare  to  be  lonely, 
Fulfil  my  will  as  sovereign  only, 
Watch  where  the  stars  flit  by  me  pronely, 
Drink  where  the  flood  of  the  world's  full  bowl  is, 
Still  being  all  that  ever  has  been  most. 

What  do  I  find  worth  while  to  seek  ? 

I  make  and  unmake  all  laws, 

I  am  their  source  and  genuine  cause, 

No  reason  have  I  to  be  mild  or  meek. 

This  sense  of  self  is  the  heart  of  pleasure, 

I  joy  in  it  past  all  bound  or  measure; 

Of  the  great  world  I  shall  take  my  fill 

And  bend  life  to  my  separate  will. 

The  paler  delights  of  reason 

Are  out  of  time  and  season; 

The  richest  flowers  that  rarest  grow, 

Red  as  the  summer  or  white  as  snow, 

I  pluck  and  hold  as  long  as  they  please, 

Then  toss  afar  for  my  greater  ease. 

I  live  in  every  possible  thrill 

Which  makes  the  nerves  a  heaven  so  glad 

That  the  blinded  and  swooning  will 

Loses  awhile  the  kingship  it  had. 

I  gather  all  things  in  one  mighty  throe, 

Hope  or  Death  have  no  meaning  here, 

And  thus  at  once  most  inly  know 

What  is  God  himself  without  a  fear. 


3° 


Is  this  the  perfect  day  which  hovers  around  me, 

White  as  the  noontide  forever  abiding? 

Limits  lost  in  me  the  Limiter, 

Nought  above  or  below  me  to  bound  me  ? 

Everything  alien  sweeping  and  gliding 

Into  my  being's  marvellous  trimeter, 

About  the  arrogant  might  that  am  I  ? 

Can  this  be  bliss  or  self-blinding  sorrow  ? 

Know  I  the  depths  that  darkly  lie 

In  the  heart  of  the  vast  and  surging  to-morrow  ? 

Or  will  Love  like  a  ghost  arise  from  its  grave, 

And  slay  me  with  scorn  more  grand  than  the  scorn 

With  which  I  spurned  its  voice  in  the  morn 

When  it  stood  by  my  side  to  save  ? 

To  save  ?  saving  or  wrecking  is  only  myself; 

I  am  at  once  both  Ghibelline  and  Guelf, 

Empire  and  Church  and  Sovereign  haught, 

The  whole  in  my  net  of  existence  caught. 

And  yet  in  the  darkness  of  night  a  vision  arises 

Of  Life  that  more  than  mine  own  comprises, 

Over  me  stars  and  large  interspaces 

And  gradual  resurgence  of  high  golden  places, 

Heaven  beyond  heaven  in  measureless  gyres, 

And  myriad  sound  of  outpouring  lyres, 

And  far  above  all  a  central  splendour 

That  only  is  since  it  has  an  attender, 

A  life  that  lives  but  as  it  is  not, 

And  knows  sweet  Love  for  its  substance  and  lot. 


Ah  me!  this  utter  loneliness, 
And  deepening  sense  of  hopes  that  flee, 
The  outer  a  dream  and  a  blaze, 
A  strange  and  purposeless  maze, 
Myself  the  core  of  a  sharp  distress 
Drowned  in  a  vague  and  mocking  sea. 
Nay,  I  must  burst  this  night-born  anguish, 
Strike  down  the  walls  of  my  pain  and  prison, 
Awaken  to  act  from  the  blisses  which  languish, 
Look  forth  again  to  a  sun  re-arisen, 
See  that  another,  a  loftier,  a  higher, 
Must  be  to  answer  my  deepening  desire, 
Reach  to  the  Life  that  thinks  me  and  folds  me, 
Being  itself  the  Love  that  creates, 
Being  alone  as  it  lives  in  another, 
Marvellous  father  and  friend  and  mother, 
Finding  Himself  as  He  upholds  me, 
Strength  that  executes  ever  and  waits! 


II 

ADAGIO  CON  MOLTO  SENTIMENTO 
DE  PROFUNDIS 

I  have  sunk  to  the  uttermost  deep,  I  have  passed  the 

sharp  verge  of  life, 
Above  me  I  see  the  steep  wherefrom  I  plunged  in 

my  strife; 

32 


I  hear  around  me  the  roar  of  things  that  anguish 

and  storm, 
And  the  hours  are  more  and  more  aroused  to  slay 

and  deform. 
This  is  not  the  darkness  of  death  but  a  doom  more 

bitterly  stern, 
No  merciful  loss  of  breath,  no  end  of  the  lights  that 

burn 
Like  manifold  suns  of  day  in  the  soul's  joy-speeding 

dream 
When  it  seems  to  be  sure  of  the  way  along  the  Senses' 

vague  stream. 
Ah,  would  that  it  were  even  so,  that  thought  had 

passed  as  it  rose, 
That  light  were  fled  with  its  glow,  that  life  were 

through  with  its  shows. 
So  I  would  flee  and  be  freed,  utterly  breathless  and 

done 
With  every  semblance  of  deed,  or  aught  of  action 

begun; 
But  just  as  I  utter  the  speech  that  would  slay  with 

imperious  might, 
Then  again  the  passions  beseech,  and  life  leaps  up 

into  light. 
Somewhere  between  this  pain  and  the  strength  that 

was  mine  before 
Must  lie  the  infinite  gain,  the  end  that  begins  no 

more. 
I  float  on  the  savage  tide,  I  see  far  out  of  my  reach 

33 


The  plains  where  men  have  died,  the  rounded  and 

musical  beach. 
I  yield  and  give  up  attempt  to  attain  the  sweet  loss 

of  all, 
The  bliss  of  being  exempt  from  the  pallid  hopes  that 

befall. 

Take  me,  O  terrible  wave,  and  bear  me  with  you  afar. 
Whatever  the  living  grave,  whatever  the  sinister  star, 
Whatever  the  lowering  doom,  which  nought  is  strong 

to  dispel, 
The  light  that  is  fashioned  of  gloom,  the  love  that  is 

hate  as  well. 
I  am  borne  by  the  wave  afar  to  the  islands  that  gleam 

and  arise 

Like  an  ominous  bearded  star  in  the  rapt  and  dream- 
ing skies. 
As  I  reach  the  wondrous  shore,  I  hear  the  sound  of 

the  leaves 
Mixed  with  the  lengthening  roar  which  the  wind 

from  the  billows  receives. 
I  know  not  what  life  may  be  amid  those  shimmering 

bowers, 
Nor  what  fruit  may  load  the  tree  with  the  great  and 

luminous  flowers; 
Yet  here  I  rest  and  remain,  and  free  myself  from 

the  tide, 
And  look  across  the  plain,  where  the  shadowy  figures 

glide. 
I  am  wholly  purged  of  fear,  I  only  abide  and  wait, 

34 


And  the  sound  of  the  ocean  near  is  the  sound  of  a 

coming  fate. 

I  wander  inland  and  note  that  many  have  trod  before 
These  meads   unreached  of  a  boat,  this   blossom- 
besprinkled  floor; 
Yet  hearken  that  bird's  one  song,  repeated  again 

and  again, 
Bringing  the  thoughts  in  a  throng  that  hold  most 

gold  for  all  men. 
This  did  I  hear  in  my  youth  before  the  daytime  was 

sad, 
And  I  dreamed  that  I  knew  the  truth,  and  my  very 

soul  was  glad. 
I  would  have  none  with  me  here,  I  feel  that  my 

thought  alone 
Must  meet  and  pierce  with  its  spear  the  horror  that 

has  held  the  throne. 
I  pass  underneath  the  shade  of  the  wood  beside  the 

lake 
With  a  silver  light  overlaid  as  if  for  my  agonized 

sake; 
I  feel  the  life  sweep  and  thrill  through  my  heart  that 

lies  wide  and  prone, 

And  a  deeper,  larger  will  than  the  one  I  have  haugh- 
tily known 
Takes  me  upon  its  warm  breast  as  a  mother  soothes 

her  child 
And  the  sun  is  low  in  the  west  and  the  day's  song 

gentle  and  mild. 

35 


I  long  for  the  coming  of  night  and  the  light  of  the 

tender  moon 

When  my  guilt  may  sink  out  of  sight  with  its  haunt- 
ing mystical  croon, 
For  I  see  through  the  twilight  and  mist  a  calmed 

benignant  shore 
Whose  allurement  let  none  resist  whom  hither  the 

tempests  bore. 
Yea,  help  seems  poured  around  and  there  comes 

from  flower  and  leaf 
A  something  more  than  sound,  a  power  to  master 

all  grief. 
I  know  the  depth  of  the  wrong  into  which  I  plunged 

and  leapt, 
And  I  know  the  sense  of  the  song  which  the  mighty 

air  has  kept. 

Nay,  I  am  ready  to  yield,  and  give  myself  wholly  up 
To  the  life  that  floods  the  field,  and  drink  from  its 

infinite  cup; 

And  over  the  gradual  sea  the  setting  sun  pours  forth 
A  glory,  sudden,  free,  from  south  to  effulgent  north. 
I  sink  to  a  clear  abyss  and  my  soul  gives  forth  its 

cry 
To  the  life  that  is  more  than  this,  to  the  spirit  beyond 

the  sky. 
I  have  no  shadow  of  fear,  and  gladly  am  lost  and 

spent 
In  the  passion  that  rules  the  sphere,  in  the  sea  of 

divine  intent. 

36 


Like  a  wind  that  arises  and  sweeps  across  the  scarce 

trodden  plain, 
Like  power  that  never  sleeps,  like  love  without  a 

stain 
That  circles  the  planets  and  all,  is  outermost  verge 

and  bound, 
Is  life's  gold-glittering  wall,  is  light  and  warmth  and 

sound, 
So  a  purpose  and  feeling  dim  grows  larger  and  clearer 

far, 
And  bears  me  into  its  hymn  and  lights  me  as  some 

fair  star 
The  violet  folds  of  the  dome  that  rises  above  vague 

space, 
And  grants  me  a  joy  as  of  home,  and  glorifies  all  the 

strange  place. 
I  grow  a  part  of  the  prayer  that  ascends  as  incense 

mild, 
And  passes  beyond  the  wide  air,  response  to  father 

from  child. 
I  thought  myself  merged  in  the  whole,  but  am  that 

whole  as  myself, 
And  seem  attaining  the  goal,  the  making  of  man 

from  the  elf, 
The  whole  that  is  truly  me,  and  yet  looks  gladly 

above 
From  the  universe's  tree,  to  the  light  that  is  wholly 

Love. 


37 


Ill 

SCHERZO 
MORNING 

Hear  the  raindrops  clear 

Striking  gainst  the  pane; 
Near  the  lights  appear 

Fleeting  down  the  plain 

And  whitening  all  the  sky  where  day  grows  fair 
amain. 

We  know  that  the  sea 

Where  the  raindrops  fall, 
Gleeful  as  may  be, 

Makes  the  sunbeams  thrall, 
And  ripples  unto  ripples  sing  and  croon  and  call. 

Mist,  no  more  resist 

What  the  sunshine  tells; 
List!  blue  skies  persist, 

Uttering  noble  spells, 

And    your   dim    shrouds    endure   no   more   morn's 
miracles. 

Gold  the  day  unrolled 

Glows  through  watery  skies; 
Stoled  in  light's  pure  fold, 

38 


The  sullen  clouds  arise, 

And  speed  and  melt  indeed  from  the  sun's  piercing 
eyes. 

Firm  my  heart  infirm 

Grows  as  forth  I  gaze: 
Termless  seems  the  term 

Of  the  increasing  blaze, 

And  tree  and  sky  and  lea  glow  while  new  lights 
amaze. 

Raindrops  now  complain 

No  more,  and  the  fire, 
Bane  of  what  is  vain, 

Life's  uplift  desire, 

Shows  clear  in  leaf  and  brere  and  vanquished  tem- 
pest's ire. 

Play  of  regnant  day 

Fills  the  gladdening  air; 
May  should  thus  be  gay, 

Season  debonair, 
The  year's  beginning,  dear  and  tender,  mild  and  fair. 

Thus  the  amorous 

Springtime  glows  and  grows, 
For  us  the  glorious 

Promise  after  snows, 

The  bright  and  golden  light  dispelling  all  our  woes. 

39 


IV 

ALLEGRO  TRIOMPHALE 
THE  OVER-SOUL 

Over  me  the  blue  majestic  vault, 
And  the  fair  stars  glittering  adown  the  night; 
The  soft  white  radiance  makes  assault 
Upon  the  dark  and  vanquishes  with  light. 
The  palpitant  splendour  of  the  deep  sky  there 
Conquers  in  strength  of  loveliness, 
And  the  pale  lustre  everywhere 
Seems  breathless  with  a  mighty  stress 
To  bring  to  pass  some  project  large  and  glorious, 
Some  purpose  long  delayed  but  now  at  last  victorious. 
No  moon,  only  a  revel  of  stars, 
And  the  white  star-drift  scattered  across  the  sky, 
And  the  red  planet  Mars 
About  at  point  to  fly; 
Wheeling  and  circling  in  many  a  gyre, 
Height  above  wondrous  height, 
Swift  engirdments  of  vast  desire, 
Pulsing  in  multitudinous  light, 
The  worlds  on  worlds  of  heaven  obey 
A  mighty  central  law, 
Unseen  but  strenuous  more  than  they, 
The  source  and  life  of  unfettered  awe, 
The  day  that  is  whiter  and  grander  than  any  day. 

40 


The  winds  grow  balmy  and  mild, 
The  leaf-flood  sweeps  across  the  plain, 
The  fields  and  woods  renew  the  wild 
And  lovely  race  of  blooms  without  a  stain. 
Down  from  the  mountains  hoary  and  old, 
Fastnesses  of  shine  and  cold, 
The  clear  streams  tumble  and  bicker  and  roll, 
And  the  earth  shows  again  that  Bliss  is  her  soul. 
Yet  nothing  abides, 
Forever  onward  the  miracle  glides, 
Miracle  still,  and  always  a  wonder, 
The  courage  that  rises  in  calm  or  in  thunder, 
The  slow  sure  might  of  the  glittering  waters, 
The  sudden  cries  of  the  fire's  upleaping  daughters, 
All  strengths  in  changeless  interchange 
Of  life  and  death  and  successes  that  range, 
Making  the  heart  of  the  winter's  chill, 
And  soul  of  the  joys  the  summers  spill. 
In  sooth  all  things  are  one, 
Kept  in  the  sweep  of  the  regnant  sun, 
Who  gives  to  each  its  stretch  of  dominion 
And  flight  on  separate-hued,  swift  pinion  — 
Happy  to  know 
From  Him  they  flow, 
Happy  in  mystical  communion 
With  Him  who  is  all  in  divisive  reunion. 
Hearken  to  the  voice  of  the  manifold  speeding  years, 
Think  the  grand  sum  that  fills  the  great  cup 
Of  space  and  brims  it  with  mighty  actions  up 

41 


Through  which  one  growing  Light  appears; 

Like  the  golden  and  benignant  sun 

When  the  storm  his  course  has  run 

Over  cloud  and  dark  emergent 

Where  the  sloping  heavens  divergent 

Are  flushed  with  radiance  and  fraught  with  glory, 

Making  the  whole  a  wonder  story, 

One  crescent  clearing  Blaze  appears, 

Heart  of  space  and  Soul  of  the  years, 

Love  on  high  and  one  with  Him, 

Freedom,  that  no  fate  can  dim, 

Freedom,  nerve  and  force  of  History, 

Wrapped  at  first  in  gloom  and  mystery, 

Victor  now  above  the  appalling 

Thunder  cries  about  him  falling, 

Son  and  King  and  Sovereign  Law, 

One  with  all  past  break  or  flaw. 

Know  the  Flame  whose  passioned  art 

Is  to  give  a  severed  being 

Unto  loves  forever  seeing 

That  High  Love  from  whom  they  start 

As  their  goal,  and  finding  thus 

Freedom  unmysterious, 

Freedom,  reconciling  Name 

Which  all  separate  spirits  claim, 

Bringing  forth  the  whole  that  is 

Source  of  undiminishing  ecstasies. 

Listen  to  the  singing  through  the  splendour, 

42 


In  the  morning  of  the  year, 
Not  the  time  that  was  the  sender 
Of  old  sorrows,  thin  and  drear, 
But  the  year,  which,  free  from  fear, 
Knows  the  star  that  cannot  veer, 
Touched  throughout  with  Love,  the  blender 
Of  the  coming  with  the  past, 

Of  the  ancient  with  the  new, 
The  New  which  must  forever  last, 
The  Glory  of  the  True. 

And  I  too  am  caught  in  rapture, 

Mingled,  yea,  but  oh!  not  lost, 
Having  found  the  way  to  capture 
Hopes  upon  the  vague  winds  tost, 
Currents  with  each  other  crost, 
Heat  the  friend  of  bitter  frost, 
Fine  and  marvellous  adapture, 
Whereby  the  All  is  the  One, 

And  the  single  is  radiant  ever, 
And  each  holds  the  brilliant  depth  of  the  sun, 
And  past  is  the  Spell  of  the  Never. 

Lofty  glows  the  dream's  Inventor, 

And  the  vision  is  High  God, 
Into  his  soul  I  dare  to  enter, 

Timeless  permanent  period, 

Mystic  many-blossoming  sod, 

Freed  from  suffering's  rage  and  rod, 

43 


Winning  Heaven's  divinest  centre 

In  the  light  that  has  always  shone, 

In  the  joy  that  has  no  beginning, 
In  the  victory  over  despair  and  moan, 

In  the  strength  made  stronger  through  sinning! 

RESISTANCE 

The  voices  that  you  hear  are  harsh  and  crude, 
You  shrink  from  every  sound  maleficent, 
Your  wearied  head  upon  your  hands  is  bent, 
And  thoughts  come  crowding  on  you,  brood  on  brood 
Of  grim-faced  night-birds,  cleaving,  harsh  and  rude, 
Their  flight  from  realms  of  anguish  whence  is  sent 
The  test  whereby  the  deepmost  heart  is  rent  - 
Mad  disbelief  in  the  mind's  higher  mood 

And  passioned  love  of  what  is  low  and  base;  — 
And  will  you  yield  ?     Are  you  yourself  indeed  ? 

Or  but  a  leaf  borne  onward  by  the  breeze  ? 
Against  the  tempter  lift  your  tearless  face, 
And  though  your  very  life  with  agony  bleed, 
Be  what  you  will,  not  what  your  pleasure  sees! 

HOMER 

Green-clad  the  mountain  rises  near  the  reverberant 
seashore; 

White  in  its  pale  olive  groves,  and  serene  as  its  deep- 
blue  heavens, 

44 


Stands  the  irregular  village  where  life  moves  lightly 

and  gaily, 

Quaint  long  streets  with  their  vine-wreathed  dwell- 
ings and  clambering  ever 
Toward   the  temples  well  built   for  the   gods  who 

know  them  and  love  them. 
Thence  the  ^Egean's  slim  ripples  are  seen  in  their 

silk-bright  lustre; 
Waters  that  bind  these  shores  to  the  Asian  lands  and 

the  fathers. 
Statues  circle  the  temples  in  glorious  splendour  and 

pureness, 

Also  a  theatre  rises  beside  with  its  trees  and  its  grasses 
Tremulous  under  the  winds  that  scatter  sharp  gleams 

and  thin  shadows. 
Day  after  day  speeds  over  the  calmness  that  makes 

its  blest  home  there, 
Bringing  the  changes  of  beautiful  glow  and  silvery 

night-time; 
Golden  the  seasons  repeat  the  soft  tale  of  the  year's 

willing  bounty, 
Touching  with  gentlest  of  fingers  the  hearts  who  are 

gentle  and  patient, 
Feeling  beneath  every  sadness  a  sweet  and  divine 

consolation. 
Busy  with  toils  that  reward  and  are  full  of  a  lofty 

refreshment, 

Sure  that  the  God  of  the  Light  holds  all  in  his  mar- 
vellous keeping, 

45 


Often  the  heights  resound  with  their  songs  of  un- 
challenged rejoicing. 

Viewed  from  the  great  white  harbour  across  the 
voluminous  waters, 

Blue  in  their  garment  of  mist  and  yet  clear  in  the 
wavering  sunlight, 

Lie  faint  islands  whence  come  the  long  boats  of  the 
talkative  traders, 

Bearing  the  wares  which  are  more  than  the  kinds 
they  offer  for  barter. 

So  the  glad  days  are  fleet  in  the  life  of  the  art-loving 
village, 

Deep  in  the  faith  that  the  earth  and  the  winds  and 
the  seas  are  their  guardians, 

Wondering  still  why  war  should  prey  on  the  fate- 
driven  brethren, 

Those  who  strive  in  the  mightier  regions  afar  from 
their  pleasance, 

Brethren,  indeed,  since  Greek  blood  flows  in  this 
peace  and  that  clamour. 

Fair  are  the  festal  days  when  the  poets  stand  in  the 
shadow 

Cast  by  the  mountain  over  the  theatre  thronged  and 
attentive, 

Pouring  forth  nobly  the  wide-winged  dreams  and 
the  hopes  that  are  in  them; 

Then  the  mysterious  chorus  voices  its  high  exultation, 

Hymning  the  triumph  gained  by  the  mighty  myth- 
ical hero 


Who  must  again  endure  before  the  dim   tears  and 

the  rapture, 
Hearkening  wonderful  words  that  are  greater  than 

doer  and  deed  were; 
Then  their  white-garmented  maidens  with  baskets 

of  flowers 
Wind  up  the  street  and  repeat  their  songs  to  the 

favourable  goddess, 
Promising  plenty  to  field  and  to  meadow  and  joy  to 

the  household. 
Often  the  graybeard  council,  ringed  with  its  reverent 

young  men, 
Gravely  dispute  on  the  needs  and  the  ways  that  are 

good  for  the  village; 
Also,  the  lithe-limbed  youths  vie  duly  in  racing  and 

boxing, 
Gathering  at  last  where  the  elders  let  fail  from  lips 

persuasive 
Words  of  the  sacred  wisdom  that  mid  the  environing 

silence 

Hears  what  the  lofty  immortal  gods  are  certainly  saying 
Down  in  the  deeps  of  the  souls  who  are  filled  with 

the  purpose  to  listen. 

All  the  cool  streets  are  bare  and  deserted  this  shim- 
mering morning, 

Scarcely  a  man  to  be  seen  at  his  usual  labour  or  pas- 
time, 
Open  the  doors  of  the  houses,  the  children  at  play 

with  the  nurses, 

47 


Old  men  and  young  with  the  wives  and  the  maidens 

away  on  some  errand, 
Jubilant,  joyous  and  bright,  in  response  to  a  long 

expectance; 
For  in  the  night  had  arrived  from  the  islands  rising 

to  eastward, 
White-sailed,   blue-prowed,   fair,   with   its   pennant 

flying,  a  vessel, 
Looked  for  day  after  day,  and  amidst  of  the  great- 

thewed  sailors, 
Regal,  majestic,  the  poet,  crowned  with  the  love  of 

the  people. 
Early  the  voice  of  the  crew  had  aroused  the  sleepers 

and  called  them, 

Tasks  for  the  time  were  abandoned   and  toil  re- 
mained at  a  standstill; 
Down  to  the  clear  white  wharves  the  resistless  ones 

hastened  and  hurried, 
Eager  to  know  what  the  words  that  had  flown  from 

the  fate-building  outlands. 

Ages  ago  in  the  storied  and  hero-peopled  aforetime 
Giant  fathers  of  these  had  escaped  from  a  hate- 
bringing  horror, 
Haunting  the  seas  and  the  lands  with  the  ghosts  of  a 

feud  ancestral; 
Here  had  the  mountain  allured  them,  and  brought 

them  to  pause  in  the  valley, 
Here  had  awakened  the  sound  of  a  wide  endeavour 

and  labour; 


Swiftly  the  walls  of  the  far-seen  town  made  richer 

the  seashore, 
Brilliant,  white,  and  replete  with  a  varying  peace 

and  soft  pleasure, 
Home  of  a  race  who  were  able  to  raise  the  acclaim  of 

the  victor, 
Making  the  wilderness  show  what  the  strength  of  a 

man  could  accomplish. 
Round  the  long  wharves  men  crowded  and  plied  the 

swart  sailors  with  questions, 
Travellers  kind  of  the  kin,  and  aware  of  weightier 

wonders; 
These  they  burned   to   rehearse  to  the  impetuous 

large-eyed  seekers; 
Forth  they  leaped  from  the  ship;  both  flute  and  the 

lyre  made  music, 
Joyously  passed  the  long  line  to  the  morn-clothed 

high-columned  temples, 
Carried  the  offerings  meet  to  the  Lord  of  the  Light 

and  his  Sister, 
Raised  the  rich  songs  to  the  skies  and  gladdened  their 

up-going  pathway. 
Soon  the  cool  theatre  held  the  impatient  and  restless 

assemblage; 
Forth  then  the  poet  arose,  a  divine  man,  noble  and 

stately, 
Grand  were  his  presence  and  bearing,  and  strong 

were  his  steps  and  his  movements, 
49 


Dusky  his  hair  as  it  circled  his  forehead,  broad  and 

unfurrowed, 
Dusky  the  short  curling  beard,  that  concealed  not 

his  mouth's  gentle  firmness 
White  the  still,  thoughtful  face,  and  the  marvellous 

eyes'  wide  splendour 
Gazed  at  the  noontide  sun  unafraid  of  his  mightiest 

radiance, 
Wonderful  orbs  that  were  closed  to  sights  of  the 

earth  and  the  summer, 

Seeing  alone  great  truths  that  were  props  to  the  wide- 
stretched  heavens, 
Having  resigned  what  belonged  to  the  life  of  the 

brilliant  daytime, 
Buried  afar  in  the  deep  that  contains  both  the  Good 

and  the  Eternal. 
High  he  stood  there  above  them,  larger  than  friends 

and  than  fellows, 
Eager  to  touch  the  lyre,  new-shaped  for  the  great 

new  music, 
Tones  to  which  the  fair  stars  revolve  in  their  periods 

and  glory. 

Thus   did   he  stand  before  them,  serene   and  pro- 
phetic and  gentle, 
All  the  hushed  multitude  waiting  the  sound  of  his 

passionate  singing. 
Next  from  his  lyre  flowed  forth  the  chords  that  were 

utterly  thrilling, 

50 


Full  of  the  mystical  past  but  making  the  heart  most 

earnest, 
Rich  with  voices  foreshowing  the  destiny-mastering 

future, 
Voices  dim-sounding  and  pallid,  then  rising  higher 

and  higher; 
Into  the  goldening  glow  were  their  souls  uplifted 

and  melted, 
While  from  his  heart  burst  forth  the  message  he 

came  to  deliver: 
"Hear,  O  luminous  God,  slay  thou  with  the  per- 

ceant  arrows 
All  the  grim  glooms  of  the  night  that  are  flying  yet 

round  and  about  us, 
Lord  of  the  mighty  bow,  and  sovereign  of  song  and 

of  singers, 

Send  thy  secrets  aflame,  and  across  thy  palpitant  ether; 
Forth  from  the  twilight's  clouds  that  engird  the  dim 

rise  of  the  morning, 
Shine  and  show  thyself  in  the  heavens  divine  in  glad 

glol7> 

Free  as  the  mighty-winged  winds  that  are  pouring 
superb  rejoicings, 

Saying  that  thou  art  the  soul  and  the  heart  of  the 
oncoming  Freedom, 

Saying  that  thou  art  the  strong  to  uphold  the  full 
godhead  within  us. 

Still  the  unconquered  eld  deep-threatens  and  dark- 
ens to  seaward, 

51 


All  her  dull  armies  assemble  and  mutter  their  fierce 

imprecations, 
We,  their  descendants,  yet  hold  them  in  awe  but 

dare  no  longer 
Dwell  in  the  magical  mist  which  encircles  and  subtly 

enfolds  them; 
So  we  war  with  our  kind,  we  pulse  with  a  manifold 

sorrow, 
Call  from  our  hearts  unto  them  and  invite  them  to 

new-made  altars, 
Where  old  Asian  gods  once  clothed  in  soft  myriad 

shadows 
Shine  reborn  and  resplendent  in  wisdom  white  and 

in  manhood. 
God  of  the  sun  and  of  singing,  Apollo,  master  and 

music, 
Heart  of  our  hearts,  who  didst  toil  in  the  woodland 

as  we  and  in  meadow, 

Fleeing  from  Heaven  to  dwell  with  the  friend,  be- 
loved King  Admetus, 
Shine  in  the  skies  and  uprise,  O  lordly  and   manly 

and  noble, 
Finished  in  beauty  and  courage,  fair  with  the  gift 

of  calm  selfhood, 
Clear  and  unmixt  with  the  whole,  nor  dissolved  in 

the  vapours  of  godhead; 
So  in  the  old  deep  tales  rehearsed  of  the  graybeard 

fathers, 


Personal,  high,  most  pure,  and  complete  in  soul  and 

in  vigour, 

Pouring  to  Heaven  itself  the  worship  blest  of  the  spirit, 
Didst   thou   crush   under  foot   the   dull   poisonous 

strength  of  the  Python, 
Coils  that  would  circle  and  break  us  backward  to 

Time  and  his  errors; 
So  thou  slewest   sadly  the   dolorous   queen's   dear 

children, 
Knowing  not  well  how  her  sons  could  be  saved  from 

that  doom  and  destruction, 
Woven  for  us  as  for  them,  hadst  thou  not  arisen  to 

release  us; 
Thus  from  the  deadening  gloom  thy  light  has  brought 

us  dissevered, 

Lord  of  the  Ea'st  and  Leader  of  us  and  the  Might- 
iest Future; 
Like  unto  thee  we  grow,  strong,  simple,  and  perfect 

in  courage; 
Also  the  barbarous  tribes  that  stormily  roar  in  the 

Northlands 
Clothed  in  Cimmerian  darkness  shall  know  thou  art 

Master  and  must  be, 
Taking    from    thee    inspiration    and    learning    thy 

musical  secret, 
How  thou  sovereign  art  and  the  lover  and  bringer 

of  wisdom, 
Certainly  bringer  to  all  of  the  gift  that  is  noblest  and 

chiefest, 

53 


Making  their  spirits  as  thine,  personal  in  manhood 

and  freedom/' 
Longer  he  sang  and  aroused  them,  with  splendid 

harmonious  purpose, 
Shattering  wholly  the  chains  ancestral  that  held  and 

yet  fettered, 
Making  them  hear  of  the  terrible  war  wherein  they 

must  conquer, 
War  of  the  West  with  the  East,  grim  war  of  the  son 

with  the  father, 
War  that  shall  end  when  the  Toiler  sprung  out  of 

the  loins  of  the  Dreamer 
Back  shall  pour  into  veins  of  the  sire  his  power 

transcendent, 
Both  commingled  and  one  in  a  joy  that  is  sure  and 

immortal. 
So  he  sang  of  the  heroes  and  all  deep  hearts  were 

uplifted  and  shaken; 
Gladly  the  day  went  by  with  its  sacred  worships  and 

feastings. 
Then   as  the  golden  sun  shone  brilliant  over  the 

mountain, 
Blind   eyeballs   upraised   to  its  crimsoning,  blazing 

effulgence, 
Bright  he  stood  in  the  boat  with  its  forward-bending 

oarsmen, 
While  the  rapt  villagers  silently  watched  him  pass 

from  the  harbour, 

54 


Finding  him  last  as  a  star  on  the  dark  blue  distant 
horizon. 

SONG  AND  POET 

The  song  was  so  tender  and  sweet 

That  the  maiden  who  sang 
Felt  with  the  softening  sounds'  retreat 

How  the  quick  tears  sprang. 

They  praised  the  maiden  and  song, 

Then  turned  where  stood 
The  Poet  whose  shaken  heart  grew  strong, 

For  his  work  was  good. 

They  praised  and  idly  they  passed, 

But  the  Poet  thought 
Faintly  the  unthinking  soul  holds  glassed 

What  the  years  have  wrought. 

LOIN  DU  BAL 

(WALTZ  MOVEMENT  —  Gillett) 

I 

The  sounds  pierce  through  me  with  their  marvellous 
passion, 

Faint  though  they  come  to  my  lonesomeness  here; 
Why  should  I  grieve  in  this  lover-like  fashion 

Because  her  fancies  wander  and  veer  ? 

55 


The  moonlight  touches  the  deep-shadowed  garden, 
Dreamily  seen  from  the  balcony's  height, 

And  my  inmost  soul  should  supplicate  pardon 
For  feeling  aught  painful  in  such  a  night. 

II 

Hist!  how  the  sounds  arise  and  falter, 

Swell  and  fade  like  emotions  that  change, 
Hope  that  looks  forward  and  fears  to  alter, 

Fear  that  is  hopeful  and  gladsome  and  strange; 
Softly  the  music  climbs  up  and  pauses, 

Lingers  on  summit  of  joy  past  all  speech; 
Strange  —  is  it  not  ?  —  that  the  deft  phrase  causes 

Pain  when  it  falls  in  my  hearing's  reach  ? 

Ill 

The  old,  old  story!  some  men  are  chosen, 

And  some  are  left  outside  the  gate 
Where  the  landscape  stretches,  disleafed  and  frozen, 

And  mocks  them  abandoned  and  desolate. 
She  whirls  in  the  dance's  magical  mazes 

And  yields  herself  to  its  purposeless  charm, 
Perchance  gives  ear  to  the  meaningless  phrases 

That  garb  their  folly  in  vague  alarm. 

IV 

Luringly  sweeps  to  my  heart  the  cadence, 
Nay,  I  could  weep  though  the  theme  be  bliss; 

56 


Does  the  stroke  of  fate  admit  of  evadence  ? 

Can  hopelessness  be  more  helpless  than  this  ? 
Sweet  with  the  subtle  mystery  of  distance, 

Pulsing  the  soul  and  the  fervour  of  youth, 
Drawing  me  on  with  seductive  insistence, 

Building  a  dream  of  devotion  and  truth, 


Magical  music,  that  tears  me  in  sunder, 

Scorn  me  not  broken  by  fate  and  by  pain, 
Raise  not  for  me  thy  palace  of  wonder, 

Leave  me  at  peace  from  thy  mocking  disdain! 
Outside  thy  garden  I  pause  a  brief  season, 

See  through  the  roses  thy  joyance  within, 
Wander  away  and  ask  not  the  reason 

Why  my  sharp  struggle  no  further  could  win; 

VI 

Even  as  to-night  I  left  the  gay  revellers, 
Found  this  door  open,  forgotten  of  all, 
And  dream  by  mere  chance  of  the  anarchic  rank- 
levellers 

Who  threaten  this  music  with  ruin  and  fall. 
Nay,  not  so  serious!     Let  me  not  think  of  them! 

Why  should  my  failure  thrust  me  on  dreams 
Which,  like  wine  poisonous,  madden  who  drink  of 

them, 

Peopling  the  brain  with  the  strangest  of  schemes. 

57 


VII 

Yet  in  the  dark  lurks  the  wide-grinning  spectre, 

Growing  conspicuous  as  the  ages  pass, 
Ready  to  spill  the  gay-perfumed  nectar, 

And  to  shiver  this  feasting  as  brittle  glass. 
No  more  of  these  fancies!  bitter  and  cruel! 

Let  me  not  hasten  to  join  with  the  wrath, 
Or  to  make  part  in  the  swift-coming  duel, 

Leaving  once  more  wrecked  lands  in  its  path. 

VIII 

Again  that  passage!  how  it  yearns  in  its  buoyance, 

Thrills  and  ascends  and  surely  attains! 
Fitfully  playing  with  its  gay  clasped  joyance, 

Certain  past  loss  of  its  infinite  gains! 
Softly  I  hear  all  that  full-brimmed  gladness, 

Striking  my  soul  with  a  forefeel  of  doom, 
Presage  to  me  of  lingering  sadness, 

Monotone  grim  of  a  lifelong  gloom. 

IX 

Why  should  she  listen  to  what  my  heart  harbours  ? 

What  should  I  bring  to  her  life  of  light  ? 
Let  her  hours  fleet  in  vine-clad  rose-arbours, 

Know  but  swift  changes  of  bright  and  more  bright. 
Hark  to  that  slow-moving,  faint-growing  murmur, 

Whisper  of  love  at  its  secret  and  mid, 

58 


Now  for  an  instant  hesitant,  firmer, 
Now  in  seclusion  of  ecstasy  hid. 

X 

All  the  pent  feelings  pour  through  me  in  surges; 

Back  to  your  fastnesses  deep  in  my  heart, 
I  will  strive  hard  till  no  last  one  emerges 

From  the  drear  dungeon's  most  echoless  part. 
Just  for  this  once  I  know  all  your  sweetness, 

Let  you  flow  forth  to  the  music's  faint  thrill, 
Flush  with  the  passion's  fiery  completeness, 

Let  the  rich  joyance  my  being  upfill. 

XI 

Round  me  descends  the  soft-lighted  vision, 

Grows  to  the  actual,  flatters  and  glows; 
We  two  are  together  in  regions  elysian, 

Whom  Time  shall  sever  with  all  his  snows. 
Together  ?     Yea,  and  the  splendour-winged  summer 

Flushes  the  land  from  mountain  to  sea, 
Rose  crowds  on  rose,  each  ardent  newcomer 

Glad  of  the  glory  to  breathe  and  to  be. 

XII 

We  are  the  might  and  the  heart  of  the  blisses 
Thrilling  through  waters  and  sun-mastered  air; 

Cloud  speeding  by  wafts  to  cloud  its  swift  kisses, 
Everything  sings  of  the  noble  and  fair. 

59 


Lo!  I  attain  my  crown  of  successes, 
Led  by  her  eyes  from  peak  unto  peak, 

Scale  fervour- footed  Time's   utmost   recesses, 
Seeing  beyond  what  I  knew  not  to  seek. 

XIII 

All  I  have  failed  in,  her  life-giving  laughter 

Changes  to  magical  flower  in  my  clasp, 
Flower  that  has  might  on  the  here  and  hereafter, 

Giving  their  utmost  and  soul  to  my  grasp. 
Am  I  awake  ?     The  music  enlarges, 

Glows  in  a  soft  and  assuring  farewell, 
Sinks  slowly  at  last,  and  dyingly  charges 

Hope  not  to  loosen  itself  from  the  spell. 

XIV 

Puerile  folly!     Here  in  the  moonlight 

I  loiter  and  give  vague  fancy  the  rein, 
Playing  with  dreams  that  the  truth-showing  noonlight 

Will  change  at  a  stroke  to  mere  shapes  of  disdain. 
Into  the  ball-room!     A  moment  I  linger, 

Then  forth  in  the  generous  all-covering  dark; 
Love  I  will  touch  not  with  least  tip  of  finger, 

She  will  not  know  of  my  passing  nor  mark. 

XV 

Further  I  seek  not;  fitful  souled  pleasure 

Sings  her  last  lure  for  me,  thrills  her  last  note; 

60 


Surely  I  know  the  sense  of  the  measure 
Which  from  her  towers  may  falter  or  float; 

Yea,  the  response  has  been  made  already, 
Nor  will  I  quarrel  with  what  is  decreed; 

Outside  of  life,  with  gaze  fixed  and  steady, 
I  wait  and  ponder  what  is  living  indeed. 

THE  ARBITRATION  TREATY 
("E  PUR  si  MUOVE") 

Yet  the  world  moves;  although  the  bitter  Past 

Lingering  enthroned  demands  to  be  obeyed; 

Across  the  seas  the  nations  war-arrayed 
Still  stand  at  gaze,  and  hearken  for  the  vast 
And  harsh  call  unto  strife,  the  thunderous  blast 

Of  trumpets  while  the  fields  are  sore  dismayed; 

In  Time's  great  balance  such  rule  duly  weighed 
Has  been  found  wanting,  its  sure  doom  forecast; 

For  two  strong  peoples  shape  the  newer  thought, 
With  joined  might  invoke  the  reign  of  peace, 

Seeing  each  man's  fatherland  is  where  is  sought 
Some  nobler  hope  for  true  life's  bright  increase, 
And  of  one  blood  is  goodness,  and  release 

From  world-care  by  the  whole  world's  toil  is  wrought  ! 


Word  of  clear  feather 
Haunting  the  weather 
61 


Of  virginal  smiles  and  chaste  mild  joyance, 

Utter  thy  message 

Full  of  sweet  presage, 
Sing  of  the  lands  set  free  from  annoyance. 

Lo!  the  swift  legions 

Peopling  the  regions 
Of  the  glad  soul;  there  it  is  Maytime, 

There  the  rapt  singers 

And  wonder-bringers 
Flutter  and  fleet  in  changeless  daytime. 

Word  of  dusk  feather 

Haunting  the  weather 
Of  storm-cloud  frowns  and  self-nursed  sorrow, 

What  wouldst  thou  utter 

And  darkly  mutter 
To  gloom  the  glow  of  the  new-born  morrow  ? 

Seek  the  recesses 

And  wildernesses 
Of  the  sad  soul;  there  is  no  bright  time, 

There  the  white  morning, 

The  twilight  scorning, 
Slays  not  with  rays  the  changeless  night-time. 

Hark!  from  what  taverns 
Or  sombre  caverns 

In  the  large  soul's  untrodden  dim  reaches, 
62 


Sound  imprecations, 
Fierce  exclamations, 
Woe  that  for  pity  the  wide  world  beseeches. 

Ah,  through  the  gloaming 

Low  words  are  roaming, 
Said  under  breath  and  filled  with  sad  gladness, 

Soft-voiced  singing, 

The  fountains  up-springing 
Of  hope  life-bringing  in  the  soul's  waste  sadness. 

Not  sole  and  lonely, 

Pained  and  only, 
Shut  in  the  prison  of  the  selfed  existence, 

Soul,  dost  thou  linger 

And  touch  but  with  finger 
The  life  that  is  all  in  gracious  persistence. 

Lo!  the  vast  sound-world, 

Lo!  the  glad-found  world, 
Where  thou  art  free  and  from  thee  dost  sunder 

Thy  body-fetters, 

And  grief-begetters, 
And  leapst  in  the  light  of  the  world-old  wonder! 

In  what  an  ocean 
Of  joyous  commotion 
Fleetest  thou  now,  from  islet  to  islet, 

63 


Thou  art  the  real, 
Thou  the  ideal, 
Vision  and  might,  swift  pinnace  and  pilot! 

Round  world  of  voices, 

World  that  rejoices, 
World  that  is  song  and  beauty  and  measure,  — 

Here  is  thy  dwelling, 

O  victory-compelling, 
Here,  O  soul,  is  thy  hearthstone,  thy  pleasure. 


IN  THE  AFTERNOON 

The  shadows  are  cool  and  clear, 
The  atmosphere  is  peace, 

Outside  the  mild  sun  shines, 
Within  is  safe  release. 


The  tumults  of  morn  are  done, 
Only  far  echoes  resound, 

Desires  are  faded  and  dead, 

Fallen  like  leaves  to  the  ground. 

Gifts  have  the  gray  hours  brought, 
Gray  hours  of  the  afternoon, 

Soft  lighted  hours,  whose  sun 
Faces  the  lampless  moon. 


Not  the  wild  blooms  of  youth, 

Not  passion's  golden  flowers, 
But  blossoms  wan  of  hue, 

Plucked  in  life's  gentler  bowers. 

Sweeter  is  rest  and  calm 

Than  ecstasy's  fierce  pain, 
And  sweeter  this  sad  bliss 

Than  all  youth  strove  to  gain. 

The  calm  of  twilight  descends 
Unvexed  of  sunset,  and  gray, 

Star-crowned,  and  bringer  of  dreams, 
Day's  shadow,  dearer  than  day. 

THE  CHURCH 

Down  through  the  ages  rolls  a  loudening  voice 
That  in  the  distance  sounded  like  a  song, 
Low-toned,  most  difficult  to  understand, 
Somehow  full-fraught  with  messages  of  peace, 
And  on  the  suffering  heart  in  vocal  gold 
Bursting  with  sun-swift,  wondrous  luminousness. 
As  the  long  years  of  the  revolving  world 
Grew  ripe,  and  the  clear  spring  of  Time  gave  place 
To  summer's  flush  of  glowing  History 
With  glories  past  the  shine  of  earlier  hours, 
The  deepened  harmonies  of  the  clear  song 
Grew  strong  and  full,  persuasions  sweet, 

65 


Articulate  words  gleamed  through  the  woof  of  sound, 
Sharp  emphasis  of  meaning  took  the  soul, 
And  men  believed  the  intelligence  from  on  high 
Wrapped  in  the  mystery  of  those  passioned  tones. 
Long  did  I  stand  in  hope  to  catch  the  sense 
Of  the  great  chorus  of  the  most  high  powers, 
But  in  the  darkness  of  the  storm-swept  night 
I  felt  the  leaden  moments,  and  in  the  grave 
Of  my  sad  heart  I  buried  my  complaint. 
Yet  unto  every  man  his  hour  and  time; 
I  heard  again  the  voices,  understood, 
And  in  such  feeble  words  as  I  command 
Dare  reproduce  their  large  significance, 
And,  though  they  did  seem  many,  yet  as  one 
Came  the  rich  purport  of  their  revelation. 
"I  cannot  err;  in  symbols  fit  and  pure 
I  garment  God's  supremest  mysteries. 
What  though  thy  dull  heart  may  not  understand  ? 
I  lead  by  sure  and  providential  paths 
Into  the  realms  of  rest  and  work  divine. 
Thinkst  thou  the  child,  weak,  undiscerning  man, 
Could  reach  unhelped  the  house  that  God  has  made 
And  holds  in  multitudinous  array 
For  those  who,  having  conquered,  sink  on  sleep  ? 
Through  all  the  ages,  as  a  giant  oak 
May  grow  in  girth,  a  shade  beneficent 
My  gnarled  trunk  and  sweep  of  foliage 
Have  spread  that  the  tired  nations  might  find  peace, 
And  hark  my  murmurings  oracular. 

66 


I  am  the  bride,  the  spouse  of  the  high  God, 
My  children  sit  beside  their  Father's  knee, 
And  with  the  illumination  of  his  smile 
Find  the  hours  pass  in  subtle  melodies. 
Thinkst  thou  it  nought  to  live  engirt  by  me, 
To  feel  upon  thine  anguished  lips  the  taste 
Of  God's  own  truth,  his  body,  soul,  and  life, 
To  know  thyself  ensnared  by  my  clear  net 
Of  utmost  love,  to  have  the  passage  swift 
Of  thy  enhanced  days  grow  purest  gold 
Encircled  by  my  wondrous  witcheries  ? 
Nay,  thou  shalt  not  escape  being  led  by  me 
Unto  thy  home,  the  bosom  of  the  sky. 
Thou  findst  me  ministering  to  thine  infant  heart, 
And  with  my  symbols,  pictures,  tales,  and  saints 
Teaching  what  else  would  strike  upon  thine  ear 
As  sounds  ineffable,  meant  for  the  gods, 
Not  trembling,  searching  men  like  thee  and  thine. 
More  than  once  have  I  stood  upon  the  earth 
In  fleshly  garb,  the  son  of  God  and  man, 
And  walked  awhile  the  weary  plains  of  time, 
And  through  the  mouths  of  all  my  prophets  dead 
And  living  have  I  spoken  what  all  men 
Need  well  to  heed.     I  point  unto  the  sun, 
I  breathe  a  charmed  life,  I  raise  my  call; 
O  barken  and  make  answer,  ye  my  sons 
And  daughters,  let  my  cry  as  though  a  sword 
Divide  your  ears  and  reach  your  inmost  souls; 
Come  unto  me,  ye  weary  and  oppressed, 


That  I  may  gather  you  within  the  fold 

And  shield  you  from  the  wolves  whose  hungry  howl 

Makes  the  night  shudder  with  intensest  fear." 

I  speak  as  best  I  can  with  faltering  voice 

The  words  my  apprehensive  mind  received; 

But,  as  a  memory  is  like  the  past, 

An  echo  like  the  wondrous  song  we  heard, 

A  ghost  at  dawn  like  the  dead  friend  we  loved, 

The  vaporous  vocal  shadow  of  my  dream 

Floats  through  the  air  around  me  and  half  shames 

My  impotence  fulfilled  of  bitter  grief 

Because  it  holds  not  clearer,  better  grasped, 

The  secret  of  the  springs  of  Life  that  came 

In  sudden  visitation  to  my  soul. 

ELEGY 

Ah  me!  I  am  sad!  do  you  know  why  ? 

I  cannot  tell; 
Gold  clouds  upon  the  sky, 
The  night  at  point  to  die, 

And  day  is  begun. 

Ah  me!  I  am  glad!  do  you  know  why  ? 

I  cannot  tell; 

Strange  thoughts  fleet  down  the  sky, 
The  dream  at  point  to  die, 

And  life  is  done! 


68 


TWILIGHT 

Across  the  western  skies 
A  bar  of  soft  gray  lies, 

Edged  with  a  crimson  line; 
And  all  the  pallid  blue 
With  dying  light  soaked  through 

Fades  slowly  from  its  shine. 

The  trees  are  grayish  green, 
And  the  near  field  is  seen 

Slow-sobering  in  its  glow; 
From  houses  scattered  far 
White  smoke-curls  dimly  star 

The  deep  sky  with  their  snow. 

A  drowsy  hum  succeeds 
The  tumult  of  day's  needs, 

A  murmur  full  of  peace; 
And  weary  toil  and  care 
In  this  sweet  moment  dare 

To  hope  their  pain  shall  cease. 

DESTINY 

(SOUTH  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS.     The  Boy  Speaks) 

My  father  works  in  the  foundry.     Last  night 

He  took  my  mother  and  me 
A  long,  long  walk,  with  the  lake  on  the  right 

A  wonderful  thing  to  see. 


When  a  child  I  had  asked  him  to  tell  me  where 

Was  the  blaze  I  saw  in  the  sky; 
And  he  said  he  would  surely  take  me  there 
If  I  cared  to  go  by  and  by. 

We  came  to  a  gate,  and  entered  in, 

And  went  through  a  littered  yard, 
And  passed  a  chimney  that  was  a  bin 

For  coal  heaps  black  and  hard; 
I  saw  men  pour  them  from  rumbling  cars 

Into  the  fiery  throat, 
And  the  noise  that  came  from  behind  the  bars 

Had  a  strange  and  fearful  note. 

We  stood  on  a  platform  and  saw  men  move 

A  huge  thing  turned  to  the  sky; 
The  iron  pivots  slipped  in  their  groove, 

And  it  fronted  the  stars  on  high; 
Grim  figures  walked  around  in  the  dark 

While  muttered  (here  and  there) 
Strange  fires  that  flickered  and  smouldered  stark 

Through  the  thick  and  frightened  air. 

They  told  me  to  watch  the  grim  black  thing, 
And  suddenly  from  it  there  sprang 

A  blaze  upleaping  and  shivering 

With  a  roar  and  a  steady  clang. 

The  vast  hall  shone  with  the  blue-red  flames 
And  the  rugged  men  stood  forth 

70 


Like  elves  with  the  queer  and  twisted  names 
In  the  stones  from  the  North. 

Every  bright  colour  wantoned  there, 

The  red  of  smoke-conquering  fire, 
The  gold  that  glows  through  the  morning  air, 

The  sky's  blue,  high  and  yet  higher; 
They  rose  from  the  round  and  yawning  mouth 

In  many  a  glittering  tongue, 
Then  joined  in  a  mist  as  in  the  South 

From  the  trees  the  moss  is  swung. 

I  felt  that  I  had  a  fire  within 

Made  up  of  as  many  hues, 
A  seething  mass  from  which  I  might  win 

Delight  as  my  heart  should  choose; 
A  gold  as  full  of  fire  and  glow, 

A  blue  as  shining  and  clear, 
A  white  like  a  mixture  of  heat  and  snow, 

A  red  as  fierce  and  as  dear. 

I  felt  I  could  weave  these  colours  fine 

Into  wonders  for  eyes  to  see, 
That  were  like  the  eyes  I  knew  were  mine, 

Deep  in  the  soul  of  me; 
Wonders  that  came  from  the  story-books, 

Stretches  of  gay-rippled  waves, 
Deeds  of  strong  men  and  shadowy  nooks 

The  softened  sunset  laves. 
71 


Now  that  is  just  what  I  long  most  to  do, 

My  fingers  ache  for  the  toil, 
The  pictures  fill  me,  splendid  and  new, 

My  memory's  glittering  spoil. 
My  brain  is  bright  with  the  vanishing  shapes, 

And  the  glow  that  is  over  them  all, 
My  hands  reach  for  them  as  for  rich  grapes 

That  cover  the  latticed  wall. 

I  have  stood  down  town  in  a  silent  room, 

And  held  my  mother's  hand, 
As  my  thrilling  eyes  saw  before  them  loom 

The  pictures,  brilliant  and  grand. 
I  felt  that  I  too  was  one  of  those 

Who  could  walk  by  the  waters  clear, 
Or  look  at  the  morning's  opening  rose, 

And  make  them  reappear. 

But  I  am  only  the  half-fed  son 

Of  a  slave  in  the  foundry  there, 
And  my  fixed  and  certain  race  is  run 

Like  his  in  that  clouded  air. 
Rude  is  the  path  marked  out  for  me, 

And  though  I  shall  strive  to  win, 
My  work,  I  am  sure,  will  always  be 

Marred  since  I  must  begin 

With  everything  hard  to  conquer  first, 
With  my  very  way  to  build, 

72 


Not  like  the  men  who  are  born  and  nursed 
In  the  joy  that  high  Beauty  has  willed. 

At  school  the  little  I  burn  to  learn, 
The  toil  that  I  long  for  and  love, 

The  labour  whereto  mine  eyes  must  yearn, 
The  hours  all  others  above, 

These  too  are  lessened  —  O  sadness  and  shame! 

For  a  boy,  it  seems,  should  know 
Just  what  will  bring  him  success  in  the  game 

Where  few  reap  while  the  many  sow. 
A  little  light  on  that  dusty  road 

Is  enough  for  the  patient  poor; 
Too  much  might  help  them  to  place  the  load 

In  part  on  the  richer  boor. 

I  shall  strive  my  best  and  hope  to  gain 

Something  from  dull-eyed  fate, 
But  in  the  stress  of  my  toil  and  pain 

I  shall  reach  the  goal  somewhat  late. 
Yet  if  I  attain,  I  shall  make  it  my  task 

To  fashion  an  easier  path 
For  those  who  unanswered  unweariedly  ask, 

And  help  them  against  the  old  wrath. 

CIRCLES 

Look  to  the  soft  gray  sky 

Flushed  with  a  dream  of  rose, 
Pale  as  hope  fleeting  by, 

73 


Sweet  as  the  smile  that  glows 
On  whitening  lips  that  sink  into  repose. 

So  the  grim  day  is  done, 

So  the  harsh  noise  is  fled, 
So  the  high  rest  is  won, 

So  peace  has  us  to  bed, 
And  stress  of  struggle  falls  resigned  and  dead. 

Yet  with  the  morrow's  light 

Upsprings  and  strives  anew 
The  Victory's  pauseless  might, 

The  Conquest's  life  that  drew 
Our  deepest  minds  to  know  the  whole  these  knew. 

Nay,  have  your  own  loved  way, 

Say  it  is  rest  to  rest, 
Not  from  the  day  to  day, 

But  night's  crest  unto  crest, 
Silence  and  sleep  that  seem  to  you  the  best. 

My  heart  illumined  glows 
To  see  end  re-begin, 
To  find  the  movement  shows 

Return  to  good  or  sin; 
Whichso  it  be,  the  round,  clear  soul  must  win. 

Lo!  dark  may  not  endure, 

Struck  by  the  warfare  sore, 
Working  its  own  sure  cure, 

74 


Leaving  room  more  and  more 
For  Light  which  Heaven  self-turned  must  still  adore. 

INSPIRATION 

How  dare  I  doubt  ?     Is  not  my  soul  at  one 
With  powers  supernal,   and  the  company 
Of  wise  celestials,  who  from  near  the  seat 
Of  God  himself  bring  messages  to  me, 
And  flood  my  passive  intellect  with  light 
That  comes  from  the  world's  inmost  sphere  of  love, 
And  fills  my  heart  with  joy  in  highest  things  ? 
Am  I  not  the  prophetic  one,  the  voice 
Wherethrough  God  speaks,  the  trumpet-soul,  the  lyre 
He  plays  on  so  that  songs  from  him  may  fall 
And  flow  in  sounds  attuned  to  human  ears  ? 
How  dare  I  doubt  ?     I  pour  the  impetuous  whirl 
Of  my  fierce  words  into  all  listening  hearts 
That  from  the  fields  of  hope  and  thought  the  weeds 
Of  sin  and  hate  may  be  consumed  in  breath 
Of  a  great  wind  of  wholesome  fire  and  truth, 
And  then  fair  flowers  may  grow  in  spaces  cleared, 
And  like  the  earth  in  spring's  new  garb  of  green 
And  delicate  grasses,  pale  sweet  blooms,  and  trees 
Shaking  aloft  their  mist  of  gray  young  leaves, 
The  soul  recalled  may  image  Heaven's  own  best. 
I  dare  not  cease,  and  when  the  brutish  crowd 
Lift  up  their  cries  against  me,  shall  I  shrink 
And  falter  on  my  way  ?     I  am  the  Right 

75 


Come  down  to  earth.     If  men  had  eyes  to  see, 

The  blazing  comet  of  my  progress  through 

The  world  would  dim  the  sun's  mid-summer  flame. 

If  men  decry  my  words  and  tangle  me 

In  their  wise  speeches,  and  with  questions  rude 

Trouble  the  tranquil  tenor  of  my  thought, 

Am  I  not  sent  commissioned  from  on  high 

To  hurl  fierce  anger  on  their  impious  heads, 

And  bid  my  followers  spurn  with  ridicule 

Their  silly  mouthings  ?     And  yet  at  times  —  alack !  — 

In  the  dark  night  and  hours  of  utter  gloom 

When  thou,  O  God,  forsakest  me,  and  I 

Grope  even  as  lesser  men  nor  find  the  truth, 

A  sense  of  scorn  and  fear  comes  over  me 

Abandoned  of  the  white  angelic  choir, 

I  think  that  truth  is  no  more  mine,  and  deem 

My  words  are  mixtures  of  the  great  and  base 

Like  other  men's,  deem  that  I  have  a  soul 

Not  all  pervaded,  wholly  moved  of  thee, 

But  subject  to  the  whims  of  personal  will, 

And  natural  circumstance,  and  human  love. 

Ay  me!  on  what  a  perilous  verge  I  stand! 

Am  I  not  then  on  earth  the  truth  of  truth 

Which  sweeps  away  as  winds  the  autumn  leaves 

All  mundane  falsities  to  sure  decay, 

And  brands  on  folly's  brow  the  stamp  of  scorn  ? 

Yet  doubt  will  come  to  make  assurance  pale 

And  fall  from  height  of  regnancy  serene. 

I  fear  I  am  no  messenger  —  I  fear 

76 


God  has  not  laid  his  absolute  hand  on  me. 

This  is  a  Hell  past  all  men's  thoughts.     I  lean 

Against  Heaven's  gate  but  do  not  enter  in. 

It  is  not  so.     I  am  the  world's  sure  king  - 

As  Truth  is  king  —  and  yet  the  doubt  returns. 

I  mind  me  of  the  sad  and  solemn  words 

In  days  long  past  my  dead  friend  subtly  spoke 

As  he  lay  white  and  still  and  every  breath 

We  feared  would  bear  his  soul  away.     He  said: 

"Seek  thou  the  Truth,  but  think  not  its  own  life 

Can  flow  unceasingly  in  mortal  moulds; 

Like  winds  whose  home  no  man  may  hope  to  find, 

Like  light  that  comes  and  goes  more  swift  than  birds, 

Like  waves  that  rise  and  sink  into  the  sea, 

All  inspirations  come  and  fleet  and  die." 

But  I  have  been  the  Right  through  all  my  days, 

My  nights,  my  hours;  I  feel  as  one  a  fire 

Has  shrivelled  into  dust,  as  one  a  power 

Divine  has  crushed  remorselessly,  as  one 

Dead  while  alive.     But  I  am  paltering  — 

I  must  arouse  me  and  fare  forth  to  hurl 

My  fierce  anathemas  upon  the  fools 

Who  say  me  nay,  nor  bend  their  supple  minds 

To  me  who  am  the  very  depth  of  thought 

And  inmost  soul  of  things,  the  peerless  strength 

That  builds  all  forms  and  makes  them  what  they  are. 


77 


SONNETS 

I 
THE  EXPEDIENT 

The  road  winds  round  the  hill  unto  the  top, 
Not  always  easy  to  be  seen  or  found, 
And  many  an  alluring  burst  of  sound 

Bids  the  slow  traveller  pause  and  gladly  stop. 

Here  a  stray  vine  calls  for  a  needed  prop, 
And  here  the  ways  with  shaggy  rocks  abound; 
Here  is  a  place  of  smoother,  flowery  ground, 

And  here  one  longs  a  withered  bough  to  lop;  — 

Yet  must  you  know  the  curve  of  the  hid  track, 
And  how  to  use  all  these  delays  and  lures 

That  you  may  surely  gain  the  summit  fair; 
Else,  ere  you  think,  the  midnight,  starless,  black, 
The  night  that  falls  and  evermore  endures, 
Will  hold  you  fast  within  some  noisome  lair. 

II 

THE  JUST 

Break  through  the  envious  thicket  —  anywhere  - 
Crush  what  impedes  your  certain  onward  march; 
These  golden  glooms  shut  out  the  solemn  arch 

Of  the  blue  skies  than  any  gloom  more  fair. 

78 


Close  your  dulled  ears  to  musical  notes  more  rare 
Than  waters  where  the  desert's  hot  sands  parch; 
Who  cares  for  foliage,  oak,  or  spruce,  or  larch, 

Or  blossomed  ease  when  the  Just  bids  us  dare! 

These  are  the  voices  of  the  sirens  sweet, 

Who  lurk  beneath  the  shadows  of  old  boughs, 

And  make  your  soul  faint  with  their  magic  plays 
Dancing  across  the  green  with  swift  white  feet; 
Hark  but  the  sound  that  all  your  breast  must  rouse, 
There  —  from  on  high  —  past  the  bewildering 
maze! 

Ill 

THE  RIGHT 

Be  not  so  reckless,  pause  awhile  and  gaze, 

Much  has  been  gained,  the  steep  wall  makes  a  turn 
And  the  new  sunrise  deigns  again  to  burn 

After  the  gloom's  dejecting  and  deflecting  ways; 

Yes,  here  make  pause,  and  ponder  on  the  blaze 
By  which  we  reached  this  height;  think  not  to  spurn 
The  help  which  came  to  haggard  hearts  that  yearn, 

And  gave  them  ease  after  despairing  days. 

Fixed  on  the  summit  shall  our  eyes  yet  be, 
We  swerve  not  though  we  linger  here  at  rest, 
And  take  such  calm  as  these  thick  trees  may 
make; 

79 


Behold,  below  the  myriad-glittering  sea, 
Around  the  powers  of  evil  dispossessed, 
Above  the  glow  glad  for  its  own  pure  sake. 

JUSTIFICATION 

I  slew  her,  —  why  should  I  deny  what  ye, 

0  judges,  and  all  men  must  surely  know  ? 
Nor  was  flight  ever  in  my  thought,  escape 
That  was  of  none  effect,  because  perforce 

1  bore  my  punishment  along  with  me 

In  abject  fear,  and  loss  of  friendly  hands, 

And  bitter  life  in  a  dread  solitude 

Which  dark  suspicion  wove  around  my  feet. 

I  dreamt  not  of  your  laws  and  penalties, 

Your  strong  enactments  for  your  household  peace, 

Your  web  of  potent  limits  which  unseen 

Gird  all  men  round  and  surely  strangle  them 

When  they  attempt  to  burst  the  filmy  bonds. 

Through  all  these  years  my  pain  has  blotted  out 

The  world  and  men;  and  I  have  walked  my  way 

Through  its  thick  mist  in  utter  sullenness 

As  though  my  heart  had  turned  to  stone  or  I, 

Devoid  of  soul,  lived  as  a  body  might 

By  force  galvanic  roused  to  show  of  strength. 

She  was  my  wife,  and  in  the  distant  days 

I  loved  her  truly  as  an  honest  man. 

I  had  my  purposes,  and  longed  to  see 

My  slow-developing  ideal  grow 

so 


A  visible  power  within  the  outer  world, 

A  might  incarnate  for  man's  highest  weal, 

A  helper  in  the  time's  continuous  toil. 

It  were  a  foolish  thing  to  tell  how  sweet 

Were  in  those  days  her  acquiescences, 

How  thick  she  wove  her  flatteries  round  my  soul, 

As  a  wild  vine  enwreathes  a  forest  oak; 

For  she  would  aid  me  in  my  thankless  work, 

And  sit  in  pride  beside  me  when  mankind 

Hailed  me  their  benefactor.     So  her  smile 

Illumed  her  face  when  I  poured  out  my  hopes, 

And  dropping  fickle  kisses  she  would  speak 

Fierce  praises  of  my  large  beneficence, 

And  sybilline  prophecies  of  the  near  hour 

When  I  should  be  enthroned  the  king  and  friend 

Of  all  those  labouring  sadly  under  skies 

That  were  just  shuddering  with  expectant  sun. 

I  cannot  tell  what  change  came  on  our  joy, 
But  slowly,  as  a  storm  creeps  up  the  air 
And  spreads  its  dark  domain  till  everything 
Is  gulfed  in  gloom,  a  shadow  stole  upon  us, 
And  shed  its  grievous  twilight  on  the  spot 
That  seemed  a  relic  of  the  golden  age 
Somehow  left  blooming  in  the  wilderness 
Of  this  our  mortal  life  and  pilgrimage. 
I  cannot  say  her  smiles  grew  less;  —  she  seemed 
As  strangely  perfect  in  her  ways  and  looks 
As  when  her  fascination's  glamours  played 

81 


Across  her  face,  and  through  her  bird-like  mien, 

Soft  fitful  lightnings  on  a  pallid  cloud, 

And  she  awoke  my  love  in  spite  of  fear. 

Yet  she  was  changed;  I  dreamed  a  touch  of  scorn 

In  her  caresses,  and  her  smiles  seemed  forced, 

And  when  I  turned  to  go  and  quickly  turned, 

I  saw  the  frightened  look  of  glad  relief 

Fade  in  a  sickly  glance  of  unmeant  love. 

So  gradually  my  life  was  torn;  she  felt 

Her  growth  of  power,  and  hardly  cared  to  hide 

Her  shame  of  me  save  that  with  cat-like  stealth 

She  strove  to  gall  me  in  her  deadly  play, 

And  sprinkled  all  her  cruelty  with  kisses 

As  one  might  strew  in  direful  mockery 

Roses  along  the  path  of  one  who  sees 

Not  far  the  headsman's  weapon  coldly  gleam. 

I  cannot  tear  apart  her  witcheries; 

She  stood  upon  my  every  path  of  life; 

She  scoffed  when    my  best    friends    hung   on    my 

words; 

She  wove  her  mist  of  omnipresent  scorn 
Around  me,  till  I  knew  that  all  my  words 
Brought  her  fierce  eyes  to  burn  upon  my  face, 
Or  her  chill  laugh  to  sound  and  maim  my  strength. 
I  fought  her,  stormed,  and  fled  away  from  home, 
I  tried  entreaty,  tried  all  means  of  love, 
I  could  not  move  her;  yet  she  came  and  said 
She  loved  me  with  a  love  surpassing  man's, 
And  rather  than  be  sundered  from  my  side 

82 


Would  perish  miserably;  yea  so,  indeed; 

If  she  were  here,  I  should  clutch  her  by  the  throat! 

You  see  I  crave  no  pardon,  ask  no  pity; 

But  hear  me  to  the  end  which  darkens  near. 

I  felt  myself  bound  in  a  servitude 

Worse  than  black  hell's;  my  purposes  were  dead; 

My  life  was  all  a  blank,  the  world  was  gone; 

I  cannot  say  how  utter  were  the  gloom 

And  hideous  solitude  I  dwelt  within. 

She  was  not  satisfied;  she  sang,  she  played, 

She  danced  upon  my  living  grave;  she  dared 

To  boast  of  her  well-earned  supremacy. 

Even  so  her  tyrannies  enveloped  me, 

And  I  walked  fettered  in  my  every  act, 

The  veriest  slave  the  sun  shone  down  upon. 

I  bore  it  month  by  month,  till  on  that  day  — 

Which  is  for  me  a  space  of  livid  flame  - 

The  horror  of  what  then  I  had  become, 

The  ruin  of  what  I  had  hoped  to  be, 

Arose  before  me  and  I  spoke  my  grief. 

She  only  laughed  her  meaningless,  clear  laugh. 

—  My  vanquished  manhood  stirred  within  my  arms, 

I  fell  upon  her  and  I  strangled  her, 

And  knew  my  bondage  done  when  she  lay  dead. 

0  judges,  do  upon  me  what  you  will; 
You  cannot  take  the  rapture  that  I  felt 
When  her  last  breath  was  gone,  and  I  was  free; 
For  death  is  silence;  if  I  wake  from  that, 

1  wake  in  freedom,  and  my  life  flows  forth 

83 


To  ends  that  are  mine  own,  and  underneath 
My  care  grow  as  fair  trees  in  fostering  spring. 

AN  INDIAN  STORY 

The  warrior  came  back  from  the  weary  march, 
Much  had  he  suffered  and  seen; 

He  stood  all  alone  beneath  the  arch 
Of  the  oakwoods  fair  and  green. 

He  waited  awhile  beneath  the  tree 
Where  had  stood  the  girl  most  fair, 

Who  had  promised  his  laughing  bride  to  be 
When  the  war  had  ended  his  care. 

A  shudder  crept  through  his  sinewy  form, 

He  knew  not  the  reason  why, 
A  gloom  like  the  cloud  of  a  gathering  storm 

Seemed  sweeping  over  the  sky. 

He  turned  and  across  the  darkening  air, 

Like  flashes  of  dusky  light, 
Strange  shapes  seemed  to  flit  all  unaware 

That  the  sun  shone  on  midheight. 

A  bird  made  moan  of  most  ghostly  note 
From  the  thick  leaves'  sombre  shade, 

Though  the  waves  of  sunlight  ceased  not  to  float 
Through  the  blossom-smiling  glade. 


The  warrior  quivered  and  felt  a  chill 

As  though  a  blast  from  the  dead 
Had  sought  the  affrighted  wind  to  fill 

With  anguish  sharp  and  dread. 

He  thrust  the  grim  feeling  off  from  his  soul, 

And  looked  to  the  red  sun  clear; 
He  felt,  as  the  sea  from  the  shore  may  roll, 

The  passing  away  of  his  fear. 

The  darkness  crept  from  across  the  sky, 
The  lone  bird  ceased  from  its  song, 

The  fitful  shapes  seemed  to  flutter  and  die 
The  soft-swayed  winds  along. 

Had  he  dreamed  a  frightful  dream  at  noon, 

Had  he  died  while  yet  alive, 
Had  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  soundless  tune 

Of  the  dead  when  they  cease  to  strive  ? 

He  turned  and  found  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 

A  young  girl  sitting  alone; 
Her  woe  was  a  bitter  thing  to  see, 

Her  very  soul  made  moan. 

He  gazed  with  eyes  of  out-staring  fear, 

He  knew  the  young  girl's  face, 
He  saw  the  cheeks  of  his  true  love  clear, 

And  her  tears  rolled  on  apace. 

85 


No  word  escaped  from  the  frozen  lip, 
But  she  saw  and  waved  her  hand; 

He  reeled  like  a  shattered  storm-struck  ship, 
He  followed  her  strange  command. 

Again  a  cloud  swept  over  the  air, 

And  through  it  the  shapes  seemed  to  glide; 

The  lonesome  bird  sought  no  more  to  spare 
The  flow  of  his  sorrow's  tide. 

He  followed  her  steps  as  she  slowly  led 

To  the  village  known  so  well; 
Never  a  word  her  shut  mouth  said, 

And  never  ceased  the  spell. 

When  she  saw  the  village  rising  near, 
She  waited,  he  stood  by  her  now, 

She  held  him  in  hands  both  cold  and  drear, 
She  kissed  him  on  lip  and  brow. 

Around  her  he  strove  his  arms  to  close, 

He  felt  but  the  viewless  wind, 
He  saw  but  the  day,  and  a  wail  arose 

From  the  village,  far  and  thinned. 

Nearer  the  maiden-bearers  came, 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  men, 
Pure  as  a  rose  that  no  one  can  blame, 

Death-pale  he  saw  her  again. 
86 


Alack!  she  had  kissed  him  on  lip  and  brow, 
He  tottered  and  fell  by  the  dead; 

They  place  him  lifeless  beside  her  now, 
And  lay  them  in  one  strait  bed. 

SOLACE 

Stand  firm  —  these  are  but  little  things, 
A  shadow  which  the  temporal  flings 
Around  the  soul  that  smiling  sits 
Beyond  these  trivial  fever-fits. 

It  is  not  worth  a  serious  while 
To  suffer  sirens  to  beguile 
The  soul  out  from  its  central  peace 
And  equipoise  of  safe  release. 

We  live  our  life  —  it  is  not  well 

To  fall  beneath  the  wizard's  spell, 

To  dream  that  things  which  pass  and  fleet 

Are  firm  beneath  our  careful  feet. 

We  live  our  life  —  and  we  must  bear 
The  weight  of  life's  most  certain  care, 
But  in  our  hearts  our  true  home  is 
And  basis  of  our  destinies. 

We  live  our  life  —  and  outer  things 
Are  but  a  robe  the  temporal  flings 
Around  the  soul  that  is  serene 
Behind  the  many-woven  screen. 

87 


SONNETS 


HEIGHT 

Through  veils  on  veils  of  air  and  toward  the  light 

We  press  whatever  hindrances  annoy; 
The  landscape  stretches  palely  to  the  right, 

And  leftwards  the  slow  sun  has  rich  employ; 
The  soft  stream  murmurs  through  the  wind-swept 
leaves 

The  song  that  aids  our  unrelaxing  march, 
Until  the  listening,  lingering  ear  receives 

But  shadowy  echoes  underneath  the  arch 
Of  woods  that  darken  here  below  the  steep 

Last  stair  our  eager  feet  have  yet  to  tread; 
The  grasses  vanish  and  the  sparse  trees  keep 

Chance  harbourage  where   the   barren  rocks   are 

spread; 

And  now  the  sun  increases  in  the  sky, 
Calling  vast  clearness  friend  and  glad  ally. 

II 

DISTANCE 

The  distant  lake  lies  placid  with  the  shine 

Subdued  upon  its  smooth  unheaving  breast, 
And  the  mild  mountains,  subtly  blue,  recline 

88 


Against  the  mighty  morning's  splendidest; 
The  sinuous  vapours  play  about  their  feet, 

The  peaks  emerge  in  mellow  reddened  gold, 
And  onward  to  the  sunrise  speed  and  beat 

The  wind's  wings  shepherding  the  clouds'  soft  fold; 
Slowly  forth  from  the  light-dissevered  mist 

The  village  spires  arise  unto  the  sun, 
Till  Heaven's  own  radiance  has  bent  down  and  kissed 

The  roof  trees  from  the  vanishing  shadows  won; 
Divinely  sure,  Nature's  great  soul  and  heart, 
Delight,  sun-clothed,  resumes  his  mastering  part. 

Ill 
LIFE 

Yes,  we  have  climbed  together,  and  your  sight, 

Strenuous  and  perceant,  fearless,  deep,  and  large, 
Has  burned  its  way  unto  the  sovereign  light, 

Passing  beyond  each  wider-stretching  marge, 
Passionate-eager  for  the  ultimate  bliss 

Of  light's  self  found  recognizant  in  you, 
The  wondrous  voiceless  song  of  thought's  own  kiss 

On  lips  fresh  with  its  reborn  morning  dew, 
The  intimate  and  central  strength  of  truth 

Re-glorified  in  shine  reverberant 
From  hence,  His  undisturbed  heart  in  sooth 

Brought  back  to  Him  thus  suavely  undulant; 
And  I  who  walk  beside  you  dimly  know 
What  your  unswerving  fiery  eyebeams  show. 


IV 
LOVE 

Now,  as  my  sight  grows  strong  with  yours  in  me, 

The  large  blaze  breaks  in  myriad  points  of  flame, 
And  joys,  long  felt,  stand  forth  in  lucency 

That  half  forbids  the  sweet  familiar  name; 
Lo!  your  unshadowed  smile  sends  swift  afar 

Its  centring  life  to  burst  in  leaf  and  bloom, 
And  every  roof  appears  a  luminous  star, 

And  everywhere  the  day  constructs  a  golden  doom; 
The  bronzing  smoke-wreaths  tell  of  hope  and  peace 

Holding  at  heart  the  secret  of  all  good, 
And  filled  with  bliss  the  radiances  increase, 

Leaping  to  do  their  service  as  they  should; 
So  guided  our  strong  steps  once  more  descend, 
Making  this  Light  our  Life's  unfaltering  end. 

ASSURANCE 

You  have  passed  beyond  the  high, 
Steep  enclosure  of  the  sky, 
Veiling  with  its  dappled  blue 
You,  O  loved  one,  from  our  view. 
Yet  across  whatever  streams, 
Through  what  newer  lands  like  dreams, 
You  may  rise  and  float  and  speed, 
Through  what  paths  of  loftier  deed, 
90 


You  will  ever  keep  in  view 
My  hurt  soul  as  I  keep  you. 
Whatso  waters  you  may  drink, 
On  what  hard  oblivion's  brink, 
You  I  know  will  keep  your  lip 
From  the  smallest  farthest  sip, 
(Oh,  the  spell  to  strike  despair 
Into  light  divinely  fair) 
Which  can  bring  the  fate  to  be 
That  you  should  not  remember  me. 

DROWNED 

Cease  your  flowing,  dark-hued  sea, 

Him  can  you  not  bring  again  to  me; 

Ship,  that  bore  him  on  the  way, 

Lie  as  deep  as  may  be  from  the  day; 

Better  you  had  never  been 

Than  return  as  father  of  this  sin, 

Better  that  no  keel  had  pierced  the  bright 

Waters  than  those  eyes  sink  from  our  sight; 

He  was  more  than  any  wave, 

More  than  all  the  vessels  brave. 

O  that  green-haired  earth  had  spread 

Over  the  sea's  unquiet  bed! 

Seamanship  and  vessels  fair, 

Flight  to  lands  of  other  air, 

All  things  men  earn  from  the  deep, 

Ceaselessly  must  mourn  and  weep, 

91 


Wishing  they  had  never  risen 

From  the  Undone's  cloud-wrapped  prison; 

Then  they  had  not  brought  him  low, 

Far  from  all  who  love  him  so; 

Then  he  still  would  be  the  light 

Of  all  things  that  are  most  bright, 

Grasses,  rivers,  stars,  and  songs, 

Which  the  loth  lip  yet  prolongs, 

Clinging  to  the  loveliness 

Which  he  brought  our  hearts  to  bless. 


SONNETS 

I 

THE  ORIENT 

Let  me  not  waken  from  the  dream;  the  deep 
And  endless  realm  of  being  bathes  me  round, 
And  all  its  waves  so  sink  into  the  sound 

Of  voiceless  music  that  I  fall  on  sleep 

In  the  still  golden  vast,  nor  longer  keep 
This  fitful  self  once  aching  as  a  wound 
Not  yet  brought  back  into  health's  girding  bound, 

But  now  released  from  all  that  makes  souls  weep. 

Seas,  trees,  the  stars,  the  ways  of  men, 

The  maddening  maze  wherein  they  toss  and  whirl, 
And  what  the  winds  of  change  about  them  hurl 

92 


Of  blinding  storms,  are  past;  I  rise  again 

Into  the  One  whose  lips  no  more  uncurl, 
The  silent  light's  sole  sightless  denizen. 

II 

JUDEA 

Whiteness  and  Splendour  past  the  bound  of  things, 
Beyond  the  utmost  far  Beyond,  and  Light 
For  whom  as  darkness  is  all  lesser  sight, 

Being  the  Life-beat  of  all  perishings, 

The  Song  wherewith  all  Music  rings, 

The  Strength  that  fills  all  circle-spreading  Might, 
The  Voice  that  sounds  within  stern-visaged  Right, 

The  Calm  whereto  all  pulsing  anguish  clings. 

Forth  from  the  worlds  the  winged  prayers  arise, 
Changed  into  flowers  before  your  changeless  eyes, 

Received  into  your  realm  divine,  secluse, 
Heart  of  all  hearts  and  blessed  peace  that  lies 
Golden  around  the  years'  condign  abuse 
Transfigured  in  your  Love,  serene,  diffuse. 

Ill 

THE  OCCIDENT 

I  burst  the  troubled  slumber;  lo!  I  toil, 
And  over  me  the  mighty  sunshine  rolls 
In  wave  on  wave  of  mastering  controls, 

93 


Wherein  the  weary  stress  and  wounding  coil 
Grow  into  broken  and  rich  odorous  soil 

From  which  arise  the  morn-responding  bowls 
Of  flowers  and  hopes  that  are  the  very  soul's, 
And  radiant  glow  the  obedient  mirk  and  moil. 

So  the  White  Splendour  bends  from  height  above, 

And  the  Soul  stands  at  one  with  Life  and  All; 
So  Love  replies  unto  the  crowning  Love, 
And  wondrous  is  the  shining  joy  thereof; 

The  days  fleet  on,  and  to  their  beck  and  call 
Come  Freedom's  labours  that  God's  self  enthrall, 

OBSESSION 

Do  you  believe  there  are  two  worlds  ?     Men  say 
That  over  the  dull  realm  of  Time  and  Sense 
Spreads  a  clear  region  of  more  potent  life, 
Inhabited  by  spirits  strong  for  good 
Or  ill,  whose  motions  sway  the  pulsing  tide 
Of  this  our  being's  sea  as  the  white  moon 
Draws  to  her  feet  the  fawning,  sinuous  waves. 
In  deeps  of  your  own  heart  do  you  not  feel 
Impulsions,  hopes,  anticipations  sweet, 
Which  come  from  an  intense  obscure  of  soul, 
Having  their  strength  from  a  hid  mystic  source, 
Whose  constant  effort  builds  the  vast  complex 
Of  things  and  souls,  and  like  an  artist  sees 
Its  imaged  inner  essence  perfect  wrought 

94 


Beneath  its  all-subduing  might;  I  ask 

Where  lies  the  verge,  the  sharp  dividing  line 

Betwixt  the  one  indissoluble  me, 

And  that  pervasive  power  which  ceaseless  acts, 

And  yet  through  death  and  birth  and  mighty  change 

Remains  unchangeable,  self-equal,  strong. 

I  ask  how  far  the  splendour-girted  ones 

Who  dwell  in  unseen  depths  of  golden  bliss, 

Or  those  most  awful  who  in  caves  of  sin 

Drag  out  sad  periods  of  gloom  and  fear, 

Invest  the  orbs  of  our  dissevered  selves, 

And  rule  us  past  resistance  of  our  utmost  wills. 

These  are  strange  questions,  and  no  sure  reply 

Comes  from  the  voiceless  truth;  but  I  am  worn 

With  anguish  of  self-condemnation,  seek 

A  way  out  from  the  labyrinthine  grief 

That  holds  me  prisoner  from  the  liberal  air 

And  broader  sunshine  where  men  work  or  play. 

I  am  two  selves;  I  am  incarnate  stress 

And  struggle  of  twain  potencies,  I  am 

The  stage  of  bitter  conflicts  numberless. 

As  a  wild  bird  may  swoop  upon  its  prey, 

Or  the  demoniac  whirlwind  crush  in  grasp 

Of  viewless  air  the  object  of  its  wrath, 

An  influence,  rushing  like  the  angered  seas, 

Diffused  and  formless  yet  not  all  devoid 

Of  centred  point  of  personality, 

Pounces  upon  me  with  resistless  strength, 

And  thrusts  myself  out  from  myself  and  dwells, 

95 


An  alien  soul,  within  me,  and  holds  reins 

Upon  my  thoughts  and  deeds.     It  helps  me  not 

That  I  make  struggles  fierce  to  dispossess 

The  secret  power.     I  see  with  vision  clear 

In  what  excess  of  passion's  maddened  whirl 

I  sweep  to  gulfs  of  grief  and  hideous  shame; 

I  see  with  intellectual  eye  the  nobler  way 

Of  self-control,  and  sufferance  of  the  wrongs 

The  petty  envy  of  vague  circumstance 

Inflicts,  but  with  a  grim  stolidity 

The  force  I  know  not  what  or  whence  grasps  me, 

And  seems  to  smile  a  triumph  horrible 

When  at  dread  intervals  its  dusky  form 

Looms  into  sight  before  the  inner  eye. 

What  is  it  ?     Can  you  tell,  for  you  are  wise, 

And  have  so  long  searched  God's  abysses  deep 

That  his  hid  will  has  bared  itself  for  you, 

And  you  behold  those  principles  eterne 

That  pattern  all  that  is,  that  was,  or  shall  be. 

I  cannot  live  and  be  the  instrument 

Of  random  powers  to  tune  me  as  they  will, 

And  make  such  music  as  may  please  their  ear, 

And  I  should  find  the  mutterings  of  Hell 

Sweet  concord  matched  with  their  bewildering  strains. 

I  loathe  myself  when  I  am  freed  and  know 

I  am  again  the  sovereign  of  myself. 

The  sense  that  aliens  have  held  revel  in 

My  house  of  soul  fills  me  with  rage  and  scorn; 

Is  there  no  help  ?     Aid  me,  O  God,  I  pray, 


Or  sink  me  down  in  caves  of  utter  sleep 

Where  dull  oblivion  like  a  leaden  sea 

May  clasp  my  soul  in  an  unsounding  grave, 

Unvisited  of  light,  or  breath,  or  dreams; 

Keep  me  from  such  besiegement,  or  if  aught 

Shall  sweep  across  my  heart's  unbounded  sky, 

Be  it  the  light  of  thy  sweet  love,  or  breath 

Of  thy  clear  charity,  that  robes,  like  air, 

The  vales  and  mountains,  all  that  stirs  and  lives, 

And  binds  in  friendship  strict  the  distant  stars, 

Things  strange,  contrarious,  and  sets  free  from  rule 

Of  baser  feelings,  envy,  fear,  or  scorn. 

FROM  UNDER  THE  BAN 

I 

The  brows  throb  with  the  pain  and  weariness 
Which  fill  the  heart,  and  all  the  blood  is  slow; 
We  care  not  much  for  anything,  and  know 

Not  change  in  this  continuing  distress; 

Monotony  and  woe,  nor  more  nor  less; 
But  the  same  road  the  equal  sad  hours  go, 
And  with  the  same  no  speed  the  gray  streams  flow, 

And  never  a  wind  has  touch  of  a  caress. 

Whither  and  to  what  end  ?  nay,  urge  not  thus 
The  unopening  lips  of  Fate  to  grant  reply; 
The  leaden  message  will  more  dolorous 
Gloom  the  vague  vale  where  unmiraculous 

97 


And  pulseless  twilight  broods  across  the  sky, 
Which  shuts  on  us  who  breathe  and  may  not  die. 

II 

Yonder  a  glow  of  sudden  light,  a  thrill 
Sweeps  through  the  air,  a  sign  of  joy, 
And  where  the  new-foamed  waters  have  employ 

Beside  the  green  base  of  the  rock-hewn  hill, 

A  murmur  sounds,  more  full  of  wakening  will, 
And  a  young  breeze  with  movements,  soft  and  coy, 
Bends  the  low  grass,  and  lightly  dares  to  toy 

With  slumbrous  streams  which  the  dull  slopes  down 
spill. 

So  in  the  night  a  silver  star  shone  forth 
And  calmly  sailed  across  the  purple  north, 

And  to  our  hearts  —  we  know  not  how  —  came 

back 
A  very  breath  of  spring,  a  hope  of  toil 

That  should  relead  us  to  the  shining  track 
Where  we  had  seen  the  haughty  foe  recoil. 

Ill 

Ay,  now  we  do  remember,  for  the  day 

Was  more  perturbed  than  is  its  dismal  wont, 
And  we  felt  more  how  vain  the  attempt  and  hunt 

For  labours  that  are  one  with  life  and  play; 

The  little  child  came  near  with  laughter,  gay 


As  one  whose  soul  nor  time  nor  fate  could  blunt, 
And  whose  deep-eyed  delight  would  be  to  front 
The  ragged  savage  edge  of  every  fray. 

That  laughter  snapped  the  ice  around  our  hearts, 
And  we  saw  blooms  that  we  supposed  were  dead, 
And  the  base  sky  of  sombre  heavy  lead 

Burst  wondrously,  and,  pierced  with  memoried  darts 
Of  an  awakening  sharp,  we  grew  less  cold, 
And  saw  how  Victory  glows  before  the  bold. 

IRRESOLUTION 

So  now  —  the  morrow  comes  —  the  fatal  morn 

Whose  sun  shall  see  failure,  or  haply  find 

My  high  magnificence  outrival  him 

In  his  best  splendour.     All  depends  on  act 

Quick  fashioned  to  the  instant's  exigence. 

Now  if  clear  thought  and  far,  wide  view  of  things 

And  hard  forgetfulness  of  narrow  aims 

Shone  but  as  lamps  upon  the  cold,  dark  road 

Whereon  my  feet  have  been  through  weary  hours 

Of  sullen  meditation  and  torn  soul, 

Rapt  various  by  strong  winds  of  false  or  true. 

I  long  for  this  great  sovereignty,  firm  seat 

Whence  broad  outpouring  good  in  fruitful  rains 

Attempered  to  the  time's  best  need  and  use, 

Opportune  proper  nutriment  at  call 

Of  thirsty  blooms  or  long  dry  wastes  of  sand, 

99 


Might  be  my  gift  to  man;  this  height  of  power, 

Almost  mine  own  save  that  far  nearer  claims 

Assault  my  strength  of  will  and  bid  me  think 

Of  him  whose  right  ancestral  I  oppugn,  — 

Weak  infant  never  grown  to  manhood's  thought 

And  ever  leaping  fountain  of  much  ill,  — 

This  hold  of  might  to  help  all  struggling  good 

I  dare  not  cast  away,  now  offered  me; 

And  yet  I  know  not,  for  these  sicklied  eyes, 

Grown  dim  in  atmosphere  of  bold  attempt, 

See  things  awry,  not  in  such  harmony 

As  quells  the  turbulent  upheave  of  self, 

And  shows  we  are  not  sundered  fragile  parts, 

But  rounding  last  completion  of  the  whole. 

Yet  that  bright  way  is  dark  —  cheap  chill  bought 

smiles, 

Mock  reverence,  hate  made  smooth  with  wiles  per- 
force, 

Are  lampless  lights  upon  that  royal  path; 
Surely  there  are  two  illuminations,  nay, 
One  only,  dominant  with  lustre  pure,  - 
Steadfast,  calm  soul  who  knows  the  flow  of  things, 
And  in  self-centred  trust  laughs  at  the  foam 
And  angry  battling  of  innocuous  waves, 
Pierces  the  overpowering  glooms  of  death 
With  sudden  sempiternal  flame,  nor  needs 
Transitory  splendence,  mutable  glows, 
Shows  and  bright  garbs  of  dew-long  fitful  earth, 
Content  with  deep  bold  faith  and  love  of  right. 

100 


Wherefore  I  choose;  —  hark!  the  shrill  trumpet  calls! 
Methinks  the  hurried  confluence  of  thoughts, 
And  sword-wise  clash  of  hostile,  bitter  words, 
And  sudden  energy  vouchsafed  at  need, 
May  strike  from  the  bare  rock  the  novel  flash 
Shall  light  the  torch  in  farthest  fane  of  mind 
Where  Truth  displays  her  secret,  solemn  scroll. 
Why  care  so  much  ?     In  multitudinous  flux 
Of  atoms  small  my  slender  orb  will  roll 
Whither  chance  winds  or  present  streams 
Seek  the  far  close  of  night  or  pure,  clear  fire. 


THE  FOUR  QUARTERS  OF  THE  YEAR 

WTiat  shapes  of  Springtime  fleet  through  thy  soul  ? 
Pale  long  grasses,  wind  that  passes, 
Rains  like  a  swift  sweet  dream, 
Fancy  with  stores  in  golden  masses, 
Hopes  in  a  sunny  stream, 
Golden  visions, 
Superb  derisions 
Of  failure  to  reach  life's  uttermost  goal. 

What  raptures  of  Summer  in  the  deeps  of  thy  heart  ? 
Skies  the  bluest,  vows  the  truest, 

Deep  green  gloom  of  forests  rude, 
Seas  whereon,  O  soul,  thou  viewest 
Fleets  of  joys,  a  white-winged  brood, 
101 


Wine-hued  aspirations, 
Passion's  incarnations, 
Wherewith  life's  pulses  still  storm  and  start. 

What  low-voiced  blisses  of  Autumn  are  thine  ? 
Languid  fruition,  fearsome  transition 

Over  to  realms  of  snow, 
Subtile  and  secret  premonition 
How  fierce  the  winds  shall  blow, 
Mingled  sensation 
Of  flight  and  station, 
jGflad  fear  of  ;thje  things  that  may  not  yet  shine. 

Has,  $by.  soul  m  Winter  all  peace  attained  ? 
Sunny  pleasures,  winsome  treasures 

Brought  by  breath  of  the  bold  North  Wind, 
Fireside  songs  in  glorious  measures, 
Tales  that  bring  the  fervour  of  Ind, 
Burning  coldness, 
Iron  boldness, 
Strength  of  the  heart  not  hitherto  gained. 

Joy  reigns  throughout  the  Spirit's  year, 
Lights  there  are  fixed  although  they  veer; 

Hope  and  the  Ideal 

There  are  the  Real, 
Severless  friends  in  that  wondrous  sphere. 


102 


A  FALSE  TRIUMPH 

So  the  fight  is  over  and  ended, 
The  sky  shows  placid  and  clear, 

Where  the  smoke  with  the  dust  was  blended, 
And  the  sun  could  not  appear. 

Not  a  sound  of  insolent  glory, 

Not  a  murmur  of  woe  and  defeat, 

The  whole  is  a  finished  story, 
The  day  is  silent  and  sweet. 

And  the  triumph  is  weak  and  brittle, 

And  its  heart  is  chill  and  cold, 
And  its  strength  is  vapid  and  little, 

And  its  hour  will  soon  be  told. 

Triumph  that  lasts  forever 

Comes  only  with  simple  truth 
That  not  an  assault  can  dissever 

From  its  calm  and  ageless  youth. 

Such  defeat  holds  firm  in  its  anguish 
More  life  than  the  conquerers  know, 

Before  whom  so  much  must  languish, 
So  much  is  crushed  and  laid  low. 
103 


Stand  there  with  your  countenance  pallid, 
With  your  lips  from  their  colour  that  flew, 

Till  the  blood  in  your  heart  has  rallied, 
And  the  glow  shines  forth  in  the  blue; 

For  the  just  shall  make  you  master, 

So  much  have  you  surely  won, 
And  good  from  this  sore  disaster 

Shall  resume  the  course  it  must  run. 

Then  the  hour  shall  call  you  and  use  you, 
And  the  truth  shall  fill  you  with  might, 

Nor  victory  dare  to  refuse  you 
The  bringing  forth  of  the  right! 


REBOUND 

What  do  you  seek,  what  do  you  see, 
Under  the  lonely  mountain  tree  ? 
Now  at  last  do  you  love  me  ? 

The  days  are  dead,  the  hours  are  fled 
In  which  the  sweet  sad  words  were  said; 
Know  you  whither  you  are  led  ? 

I  loved  you  well,  I  loved  you  true, 
You  stood  the  sun  in  all  I  knew; 
Have  the  days  changed  so  for  you  ? 
104 


Scorn  has  its  own  deep  mysteries 
Which  only  one  who  all  things  sees 
Knows  to  bear  like  blossoming  trees. 

Now  that  you  love,  I  cannot  love, 
I  see  nought  cast  from  realms  above 
Worthy  to  take  note  thereof. 

I  cannot  solve  the  riddle  dark, 
Or  sail  again  in  the  swift  bark 
Girt  by  music  of  the  lark. 

Nay,  who  shall  break  the  sombre  spell, 
Or  drink  the  waters  of  the  well 
Flowing  in  the  dim  past's  dell  ? 

The  days  are  dark,  and  overhead 
The  sky  is  dull  and  pale  as  lead; 
Here  nought  further  may  be  said. 

INCERTITUDE 

Your  pallid  eyes  are  wet  with  tears, 

Are  wet  with  tears, 
Your  sad  stained  cheeks  are  pale  with  fears, 

Are  pale  with  fears, 
But  the  Past  will  not  return. 

Mayhap  you  yet  again  will  stand, 
Again  will  stand 
105 


Upon  a  new  Spring's  magic  strand, 

Spring's  magic  strand, 
When  the  skies  with  sunrise  burn. 


SING,  O  BIRD! 

Sing,  O  bird,  and  pour  your  heart 
Into  your  unconscious  art; 
Pour  your  strains  upon  the  air, 
Rising  fair  and  yet  more  fair; 
What  you  say  I  know  full  well, 
As  I  lean  unto  the  spell 
Of  your  raptures  ringing  loud 
Through  your  every  accent  proud. 
Ah!  you  utter  truth  divine, 
Flowing  from  the  inmost  shrine; 
You  and  Love  are  closely  bound 
In  a  friendship  sweet  and  sound, 
As  a  rose's  petals  pure 
Coiled  up  in  a  bud  demure. 
Why  should  words  of  anguished  men 
Bear  me  far  from  you  again  ? 
What  a  broken  thing  is  speech! 
Song  alone  can  deeply  teach. 
Let  me  with  you  flutter  back, 
And  retrace  the  vagrant  track 
Which  I  followed,  when  I  left 
Youth's  glad  trust,  and  came  bereft 
Unto  fields  where  work  and  moil 
1 06 


Hold  me,  and  the  thankless  spoil 
All  men  labour  for  and  spin 
Is  but  folly  which  they  win. 
Listening  to  you  on  the  spray, 
I  behold  again  the  day 
Which  is  light  whereby  we  see 
All  we  ever  hope  to  be. 
You  and  nature  yet  are  one, 
You  are  gladdened  with  the  sun, 
You  and  life  are  not  at  war, 
Happiness*  sweet  servitor! 
Let  me  rest  in  your  clear  joy, 
Let  me  feel  your  secret  coy, 
Live  at  one  with  all  bright  things, 
Sing  as  when  your  pleasure  sings, 
Freed  from  severance  into  me, 
Held  in  tenderest  fealty 
To  the  dream  of  bliss  that  fills 
Your  dear  voice's  golden  rills, 
All  myself  absolved  from  wrong, 
Lost  in  your  ethereal  song! 

SONNET 

She  sat  beside  me  at  the  Monday  Club, 

But  my  thoughts  were  afar  and  otherwhere; 
Her  face  was  pale  and  thin,  but  not  less  fair 
Than  when  I  saw  it  last;  her  Alpine  cub, 
Whose  eyes,  a  gold-brown  wheel  with  velvet  hub, 

107 


Were  still  on  watch,  crouched  low  beside  her  chair, 
And  oft  would  make  her  of  himself  aware, 
Or  give  her  fallen  hand  a  stealthy  rub. 

For  her  dear  sake  we  had  permitted  him, 

But  I  dreamed  of  one  vanished  glittering  day, 
When  we  three  wandered  with  our  changing 

moods 

Beneath  the  trees,  and  all  my  heart  was  dim 
With  joy,  from  which  the  sun  bears  me  away 
Relentless,  roods  on  ever  lengthening  roods. 

LINES 


It  is  joy  to  be,  whatever  the  season; 
Who  seeks  to  find  the  how  or  the  reason  ? 
There  is  always  news  from  the  engirding  sphere 
Where  the  gods  like  stars  in  the  sky  appear. 

II 

Who  longs  for  what  he  may  not  do, 
And  lives  vain  hours  he  still  must  rue, 

Pity  ye  him  in  conflict  snared; 
But  if  he  learn  the  strife  to  love, 
And  prune  himself  for  flight  above, 

God  has  beheld  his  woe,  and  spared. 
108 


DIVIDED 

When  I  see  him  coming  afar, 
I  shudder  with  nervous  dread, 

He  seems  to  have  power  to  mar 
The  peace  of  the  life  I  have  led. 

Yet  his  voice  has  a  noble  ring 
That  thrills  my  uttermost  brain, 

And  his  thoughts  seem  ever  to  sing 
Some  wondrous  and  heavenly  strain, 

But  when  his  young  rival  appears, 
My  heart  leaps  up  with  my  joy, 

And  my  eyes  suffuse  with  tears 
For  love  of  the  beautiful  boy. 

Then  I  weary  of  him  in  a  while, 
And  his  graces  are  stale  and  sweet, 

And  I  scarcely  repress  a  smile 
As  he  rises  to  his  feet. 

Two  loves  are  tearing  apart 
My  being  that  falters  and  falls, 

A  love  for  a  glorious  heart, 
A  love  for  a  beauty  that  palls. 
109 


I  know  not  how  it  will  end, 

I  see  no  outlet  or  way 
From  the  night  wherein  I  wend 

To  the  light  of  happy  day. 

INFELIX 

All  the  winds  have  gone  to  rest, 
All  the  night  is  unopprest, 

Everything  is  calm  and  still; 
But  my  heart,  my  heart,  with  passion  is  torn, 
And  in  it  is  dark  to  which  comes  not  morn, 
And  I  weep  and  I  keep 
Mine  eyelids  from  sleep, 
And  I  cannot  be  calm  and  still. 

Lo!  the  happy  sunrise  glows 
In  a  burst  of  gold  and  rose, 

And  the  day  is  glad  and  free; 
But  into  my  soul  no  radiance  pours, 
And  my  life  leaps  forth  with  straining  oars, 
And  glides  with  the  tides 
Where  the  sea-roar  abides 
And  I  cannot  be  glad  and  free. 

SONNET 

What  do  I  dream  within  those  deepened  eyes 
Where  you  strive  hard  to  hide  the  mystic  story 

no 


I  felt  when  Life's  spring  saw  clear  gold  arise 
The  prescient  sun  of  Love's  impetuous  glory, 
And  through  youth's  sky  with  cloud  inheritance 

hoary 

Flashed  the  new  glow  that  made  a  young  new  soul  ? 
As  from  a  vexed  and  sea-girt  promontory 
The  pallid  watcher  marks  across  the  roll 
Of  waves  of  multitudinous  molten  fire 

The  rapid  growing  sail,  and  tastes  the  kiss 

On  trembling  lips,  I  note  within  your  heart, 
Through  eyes  you  cannot  darken,  my  desire, 
My  utter  hope,  my  waiting  certain  bliss, 

My  life  forever  made  of  yours  a  part. 

THE  SEVENTH  DAY 

The  church-bells  are  ringing  without, 

The  people  cheerfully  go 
To  manifold  places  of  peace 

And  worship  God  here  below. 

Outside  the  blue  sky  is  clear, 
The  tall  trees  wave  in  the  sun; 

Sweet  calm  descends  on  the  town, 
The  cares  of  the  week  are  done. 

But,  my  heart,  within  thee  upheaves 
The  tempestuous  conflict  with  ill; 

I  fall  to  the  deep  abyss, 

And  tremble  with  weakness  of  will, 
in 


A  WISH 

Where  the  silver  lake's  expansion 
Flashes  in  the  summer  sunshine, 
I  would  be  and  hear  the  waters 
Plashing  gently,  softly,  shoreward. 

Here  the  weariness  of  labour, 
Here  the  woe  of  those  who  murmur, 
Crushed  by  fates  untoward  and  angry, 
Darkens  all  the  Time's  precedure. 

I  would  rest,  and  far  from  anguish 
Hear  the  joyous  sounds  of  summer, 
Hearken  to  the  songs  that  flutter 
Through  my  soul's  light-mastered  reaches. 

Happy  those  who  in  the  aforetime 
Dwelt  where  skies  were  yet  unclouded, 
Where  the  Future's  hollow  rumours 
Broke  not  Life's  swift  fleeting  banquet. 

LIGHT  AS  AIR 

The  words  fall  from  my  lips  in  spite  of  me, 

I  know  not  why  it  is, 
And  so  my  friends  still  shun  the  sight  of  me 

Hence  all  my  miseries. 
112 


I  ever  find  a  fault  or  flaw  in  him 

Who  labours  by  my  side, 
Some  deviation  from  the  law  in  him 

Who  is  with  me  allied. 

I  never  mean  to  see  the  worst  in  men, 
But  I  was  born  with  eyes 

That  ever  catch  and  see  at  first  in  men 
What  wakens  my  surprise. 

And  I  am  led  perforce  to  utter  then 
The  dark  things  I  have  known, 

And  softly  say  and  dimly  mutter  then 
Faults  felt  by  me  alone. 


Sometimes  dear  friends  are  sundered  wide  apart 

By  stories  I  have  told, 
Whereat  I  am  dismayed  and  glide  apart, 

In  sorrow  duskly  stoled. 

I  stand  alone,  for  no  one  cares  for  me, 

Me  false  as  winds  that  spin, 
I  cry  for  love,  but  what  soul  dares  for  me 

Rescue  from  my  vain  sin  ? 


NIGHT  AND  SEA 

Alone  —  alone  — 
And  night  comes  down  on  the  sea. 

What  has  life  given  me  for  prize, 

Joy  of  my  hands,  delight  of  mine  eyes  ? 

Vainly  I  ask  and  vainly  surmise, 
Now  that  night  comes  down  on  the  sea. 

Alone  —  alone  — 

And  night  comes  down  on  the  sea. 
Will  it  be  better  when  all  is  said, 
My  dreary  winter  utterly  sped, 
The  futile  grievous  salt  tears  shed, 

And  the  night  comes  down  on  the  sea  ? 

Alone  —  alone  - 

'  And  night  comes  down  on  the  sea. 
I  care  not  much  for  ill  or  well, 
I  seek  no  tale  to  hear  or  tell, 
Dark  and  light  hold  the  self-same  spell; 
O  night,  come  down  on  the  sea! 

UNION 

All  things  are  good,  the  sky  is  fair, 
Fresh  blows  the  rain-cleared  morning  air, 
The  grasses  laugh,  the  locusts  cry, 
With  inner  joy  the  tall  trees  sigh. 
114 


The  clouds  sail  fleetly  down  the  blue, 
The  yellow  cornfield  girds  the  view, 
The  rivulet  gleams  with  early  sun, 
All  life  seems  bright  as  though  begun. 

Away  with  care,  away  with  fear, 

These  tumults  have  no  places  here; 

In  this  green  world  where  all  things  smile 

Who  would  with  these  his  soul  defile  ? 

O  take  the  hour  and  omen  sweet, 
Awhile  from  work  and  search  retreat, 
Let  life  upfill  you  to  the  brim, 
And  make  you  part  of  nature's  hymn. 

Float  down  the  stream  whereon  all  things 
Seek  the  same  goal  whose  far  light  flings 
A  softened  radiance  like  a  smile 
On  their  vague  strivings  all  the  while. 

Forget  the  rocks,  forget  the  banks, 
Forget  the  current's  wayward  pranks; 
Beyond  these  shines  the  infinite  sea, 
Immersed  in  which  all  souls  would  be. 

The  windy  sea-scents  penetrate 
This  shell  of  sense  and  ope  the  gate 
Into  the  universal  life 
That  rounds  with  calm  our  finite  strife. 

"5 


At  intervals  we  know  that  one 
Are  all  things  underneath  the  sun, 
That  struggling  soul  and  peaceful  flower 
Are  emanations  from  one  power. 

We  feel  our  brotherhood  with  all 
The  leaves  that  laugh,  the  birds  that  call, 
The  clouds  that  sail,  the  winds  that  blow, 
The  tasselled  corn  row  after  row. 

O  take  the  hour  and  omen  sweet, 
Awhile  from  work  and  search  retreat; 
O  take  the  hour,  one  moment  be 
The  whole  that  we  call  Destiny! 

COURAGE 

What  dost  thou  fear  ? 

I  see  nought  in  all  Life's  sphere 

To  make  me  tremble; 

Thou  canst  not  die 

Though  all  the  gods  their  legioned  tribes  assemble 

In  martial  panoply  across  the  sky, 

And  hurl  fierce  darts  against  thy  breast 

Invulnerably  at  rest. 

Art  thou  not  master  over  death, 

And  laughst  to  scorn  the  bitterest  word  he  saith  ? 

Nay,  God  cannot  unmake  thee 

At  risk  of  his  own  soul, 

116 


Nor  with  his  utmost  hatred  break  thee, 

Lest  the  engirding  whole, 

Which  is  his  being, 

Vanish  from  thought  or  seeing. 

I  fear  not  man  nor  God; 

I  choose  the  right; 

The  little  pedagogue  with  switch  or  rod, 

Who  governs  Hell  or  Heaven, 

His  angels  or  his  demons  seven, 

I  have  not  lot  nor  share  in; 

I  do  mine  own  desire; 

The  brief  small  years  of  earth  to  toil  or  dare  in 

I  shrivel  up  like  flax  in  my  bold  action's  fire. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  fear; 

I  spurn  the  world, 

And  mysteries  eternity  enfolds; 

Within  the  expanse  of  my  unceasing  Now  and  Here 

I  walk  the  elysian  fields  with  morning  dew  impearled, 

I  seize  the  secrets  God's  deep  bosom  holds, 

And  in  my  sure  reliance 

Send  down  the  Universe  the  cry  of  my  defiance. 

SPHERE-MUSIC 

Hark!  hast  thou  ears  for  tones  that  fall  from  far 
Through  spaces  of  the  blue  round  atmosphere, 
Too  lustrous-pure  to  burst  the  bond  and  bar 
Of  heaviness  that  builds  its  mansions  drear 


Around  dull  minds  upon  whose  eyeballs  blear 
Falls  no  lit  vision,  whom  no  wonder-sound 
Can  waken  ?  —  hark!  most  sweet  and  low  and  clear 
They  fill  the  air,  till  the  whole  heart  is  bound 
In  ecstasy  too  deep  for  words  or  song, 

Transfiguring  the  body's  shell  to  soul 

With  corresponding  rapture,  and  all  Time 
Sunders  its  vaporous  veil  of  ancient  wrong, 

While  like  the  opening  of  a  poet's  scroll 

The  splendour  grows  of  Life  complete,  sublime ! 

WITH  A  BOOK 

In  sooth,  the  touch  of  your  fingers 

Thrills  me  with  subtlest  bliss, 
The  soul  of  whose  memories  lingers 

From  that  moment  unto  this, 
When  I  look  again  into  your  eyes 
Where  my  wondrous  sun  and  stars  arise. 

I  bring  you  this  little  book, 

All  made  up  of  joy  like  ours, 
Into  whose  uttermost  nook 

Pierces  the  odour  of  flowers 
That  grow  in  divine  Love's  secretest  place, 
And  see  all  day  his  unveiled  face. 

Lift  up  your  eyes  and  gaze, 

My  breath  is  faint  at  my  lips, 
I  die  in  those  glances'  maze 
118 


As  a  star  in  splendid  eclipse 
On  the  waiting  breast  of  the  mighty  sun 
When  the  brilliant  term  of  its  years  is  run. 

COMMONPLACE 

Three  little  kisses  in  the  red  corn, 
Three  steps  from  the  open  door, 

And  a  silver  star  that  shone  in  the  sky 
Shines  in  its  place  no  more. 

Three  little  sighs  of  odorous  breath 

From  beating  of  the  heart, 
And  a  soul  that  had  all  souls  by  its  side 

Stands  from  all  souls  apart. 

What  has  the  wind  to  say  in  her  ear, 

Out  on  the  barren  wold  ? 
And  what  is  the  voice  of  the  church  bell  far 

Sounding  across  the  cold  ? 

Three  little  steps  and  under  the  hedge, 

Icy  and  leafless,  bare, 
A  shadow  totters,  dumbly  falls, 

And  moveless  slumbers  there. 

THE  IDEAL 

O  poor,  tired,  foot-sore  treader  of  life's  ways, 

Beyond  are  lands  of  lovely  rest, 
Unvexed  by  noise  fulfilling  these  sad  days, 

Fair  as  the  storied  west. 
119 


Not  on  the  wings  of  white-sailed  sharp-keeled  ships 

Shall  man  attain  that  splendid  land; 
Under  strange  suns  unknowing  dire  eclipse 

Paths  thitherward  expand. 

Deep  in  the  soul  those  buried  regions  lie, 
Beautiful  with  dreams  dead  poets  saw, 

Wondrous  with  thoughts  hovering  one  minute  nigh 
Some  dreamer  on  God's  law. 

O  sunset  island  of  the  Hesperides, 

O  golden  age  made  ours  at  will, 
Fierce  extreme  reach  of  divine  ecstasies, 

Glad  summit  of  God's  hill! 

O  patient  toiler,  dawn  makes  sweet  the  air, 
And  fair-faced  morning  shines  at  length 

For  thee  wrapt  deep  in  blooms  those  far  fields  bear, 
Song-soothed  through  all  thy  strength. 

VIGIL 

Who  never  doubts  but  still  doth  strive, 
Though  thunder  rolls  and  lightnings  rive, 

Shall  have  sweet  peace  anon; 
But  neither  backward  nor  to  side 
May  forward  eyes  firm-fixed  and  wide 

Swerve  lest  their  hope  be  gone. 

120 


For  ceaseless  watch  the  dim  star  asks, 
And  leaves  brief  time  to  other  tasks, 

But  sets  on  eyes  infirm; 
Nor  to  the  hours  of  vigil  cold, 
And  hands  laborious  and  bold, 

Places  the  wished-for  term. 

Strong  love  for  that  strange  watch  will  grow 
Within  thy  heart  as  from  pale  snow 

Of  summit  bloom  of  flame; 
That  novel  growth  will  fill  the  air 
Wherein  thy  meditations  fare 

With  light  from  Heaven  that  came. 

Then  wilt  thou  watch  with  strenuous  heart, 
Then  wilt  thou  know  the  hidden  part 

Thy  soul  in  nature  plays; 
And  peace  and  joy  and  splendid  dreams, 
And  of  the  Future  wondrous  gleams, 

Will  fill  thy  life's  lit  ways. 

REMORSE 

I 

O  the  wind  and  the  sea  and  the  sky, 

O  the  darkness,  the  river,  the  snow, 

O  the  cry  that  arose  and  fell, 

O  the  star  that  shone,  and  flickered  and  passed! 

121 


II 

I  gaze  and  shudder  and  hearken  again; 
The  wind  through  the  rattling  trees, 
The  wash  of  the  waters  against  the  shore, 
The  light  on  the  ship  seen  through  the  snow. 

Ill 

O  the  river  and  the  gaping  sea, 
The  fleet  dark  waters  pouring  amain 
Into  that  grim  and  gloomy  and  vast 
Abyss  whose  secrets  no  man  may  know! 

IV 

What  has  been  done  on  the  shivering  verge  ? 
O  the  sea  whose  dull  moan  is  a  mock, 
And  the  wind  that  impotent  wails, 
And  the  night  with  never  a  word! 


LULLABY 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep!  smile  in  your  sleep! 
Back  to  the  splendour  realms 
Whence,  borne  by  golden  helms, 
On  seas  the  sun  overwhelms, 

Into  life's  night  your  boat  would  creep! 
122 


Sleep,  baby,  sleep!  smile  in  your  sleep! 
For  joy  of  parting  is  great, 
Return  makes  the  heart  elate, 
Sameness  bids  bliss  to  abate, 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep!  smile  in  your  sleep! 

EN  AVANT 

Stay  not  too  long  in  curious  thought, 

Plunge  into  act  and  know 
That  fate  with  lesser  doubt  is  fraught 

Than  your  first  trepidations  show. 
Stay  not  too  near  the  friendly  shore, 

Trust  all  upon  the  instant's  throw, 
Boldly  strike  out,  and  more  and  more 

The  waves  will  calm,  the  mild  winds  blow. 
Lo!  yonder  is  the  isle  in  sight 

Whither  your  better  hopes  would  go, 
And  farther,  rising  from  the  night, 

New  peaks  within  the  new  sun's  glow! 

SONNET 

In  what  far  land  of  bliss  have  you  been  straying, 
What  land  of  low-voiced  streams   and  days   all 

golden, 

Faint,  heavy-leaved  nooks  by  none  beholden 
Save  eyes  across  whose  space  the  fair  god  playing, 
The  god  of  song  and  fancy's  year-long  Maying, 

123 


With  his  weird  witcheries  has  given  them  olden 
And  rarest  power  on  sights  thrice  deep  enfolden 
In  his  sweet  gloom,  in  what  far  realm  displaying 
Faery's  hid  charms,  and  unvoiced  subtle  splendour, 
The  soul's  deep  heart  made  visible,  the  glory 
Of  some  abode  in  Heaven's  seven-folded  mys- 
tery, 

In  what  domain  of  dream,  for  slow  and  tender 
Your  swift  sad  smiles  half  tell  the  rapturous  story, 
And  in  your  eyes  I  read  the  wondrous  history. 

EPILOGUE 

What  is  it  after  all  ? 

The  play  is  soon  played  out, 

The  tale  is  quickly  told; 
Youth  makes  a  sudden  fall, 
Joy  knows  a  dismal  rout, 
And  the  end  is  knolled. 

One  stay  alone  I  know, 
One  virtue  to  profess, 

One  comfort  to  hold  fast: 
Patience  what  winds  may  blow, 
Courage  what  woes  oppress, 
And  sleep  at  last. 


124 


A  PARTING 

The  words  that  day  you  spake, 
When  last  for  my  sad  sake 

We  met,  are  far  from  wrong; 
Faith  is  of  slender  root, 
Its  rapid  growing  shoot 

Hath  life  not  over  long. 

You  could  not  feel  again 
What  both  of  us  felt  then, 

The  passion  and  the  love; 
From  you  as  far  from  me 
Flown  is  that  ecstasy, 

That  earth  all  heaven  above. 

It  is  not  well  to  strive, 

For  all  things  fleet  and  drive 

Adown  the  self-same  stream. 
Hold  fast  the  golden  hour, 
But  clasp  no  ruined  flower 

When  faded  is  the  dream. 

Yea,  vain  are  all  regrets, 
For  life  foregoes,  forgets, 

An  end,  an  end,  to  all; 
Be  free  to  take  and  leave, 
What  time  may  give,  receive, 

But  unto  nought  be  thrall. 
125 


For  faith  to  faithlessness 
Is  saddest  of  distress, 

Be  truth's  while  truth  remains; 
But  pass  nor  enter  more 
The  bitter  threatening  door 

Where  Falsehood  cowled  complains. 

You  know  it  is  but  well 
That  ended  is  the  spell; 

Seek  other  hopes  and  new, 
Cast  no  pale  glances  back 
Upon  the  trodden  track, 

Nor  what  hath  chanced  rue. 

ADMONITION 

Courage,  friend,  the  way  is  open, 
Tread  it  without  taint  of  fear, 

Farther  on  the  green  fields  glitter, 
Words  are  whispered  of  good  cheer. 

All  the  winds  are  full  of  voices, 
Every  breeze  invites  and  calls, 

Every  mountain  nods  benignly, 
Every  good  begins  and  thralls. 

Only  do  not  pause  and  falter, 
Onward  though  the  way  be  cold, 

Brave  hearts  cannot  be  defeated, 
All  things  come  unto  the  bold. 
126 


SOLITUDE 

Forth  from  the  many  noises  let  me  pass, 

Under  these  trees  I  find  my  younger  soul  again, 
I  hear  the  soft  faint  whisper  of  the  grass, 

And  sweeter  is  it  than  the  words  of  men; 
I  must  forego  the  weariness  of  strife, 

The  saddening  search  for  things  of  little  worth, 
The  bitter  toils  that  break  the  heart  of  life, 

And  clog  the  sources  of  the  truer  mirth. 
Let  me  be  freed  from  all  those  storms  awhile, 

Be  glad  to  watch  the  light  play  on  the  brook, 
Bathe  myself  in  the  sky's  unvarying  smile, 

And  read  again  the  songs  in  nature's  book; 
So  shall  the  day's  swift  changes  bring  to  me 
The  olden  joys,  the  lost  serenity. 

AT  THE  THEATRE 

She  sat  in  her  box  and  watched  the  play, 

And  the  miracle  of  her  smile 
Was  more  than  the  power  of  verse  to  say, 

Or  the  skill  of  a  master's  style. 

She  watched  the  woes  of  the  heroine  there, 

The  woes  of  the  artist  life, 
The  father  enraged  at  his  daughter  fair, 

The  child  with  the  home  at  strife. 

127 


The  large  face  spoke  of  an  inner  peace, 

And  a  wisdom  that  clearly  knew 
How  the  pictured  soul  might  gain  release 

From  the  winds  that  round  it  blew. 

The  words  fell  softly  from  her  lips, 

And  over  her  equable  breath 
Came  like  the  placid  movement  of  ships 

That  dreamed  not  of  nearing  death; 

But  in  her  heart  were  passion  and  fear, 
Though  her  eyes  made  never  a  sign, 

And  her  accents  dulcet  and  suavely  clear 
Were  calmer  far  than  mine. 

Could  she  forget  that  the  strength  was  at  work 

To  bring  the  secret  to  light 
And  thrust  her  amid  the  horror  and  mirk 

Of  crime  and  its  savage  blight  ? 

And  him  for  whom  she  had  offered  up  all, 

Body  and  soul  and  truth,  - 
Would  the  law's  delay  at  last  appal, 

And  show  as  he  was  in  sooth  ? 

She  feels  that  she  stands  on  the  perilous  brink, 
But  her  words  are  feathered  with  wit, 

And  seeing  her  eyes  no  man  may  think 
That  the  furies  within  her  sit. 
128 


OVER  THE  LAKE 

Soft  bends  the  dim  sky  round  the  earth, 
Dappled  with  fleecy,  moving  clouds; 

There  where  the  golden  sun  has  birth, 
A  mist  the  purple  waves  enshrouds. 

Far  off  a  single  white  sail  speeds 
Into  the  morning's  quivering  glow, 

Brightening,  as  farther  it  recedes, 
With  lights  that  from  the  sunrise  flow. 

My  thought,  my  hope,  too  spreads  its  wings, 
Seeing  the  billowing  splendours  break, 

And  rises  where  the  whole  air  rings 

With  songs  that  in  me  shine  and  wake. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS 

Bluer  the  sky  and  more  serene, 

Perfumed  the  air, 
Thin  shadows  touch  the  valley  green, 

Speed  here  and  there. 

The  land  laughs  with  the  wind  and  sun, 

The  mountains  stand 
Veiled  in  the  mist  by  distance  spun 

On  either  hand. 

129 


The  silence  weaves  its  tender  spell, 

Sweeter  than  song, 
Around,  high  up,  the  soft  clouds  dwell, 

And  moveless  throng. 

Thought's  weary  stress  dissolves  in  peace, 

Care  fleets  on  care, 
Life  celebrates  a  new  release,  — 

The  dream  is  fair. 


ECHO 

Away  upon  sweet  Music's  river, 

Far,  far  away, 
Bright,  led  by  dreams,  my  heart  forever 

Floats  and  is  glad  to  stray. 
When  my  soul  is  sad  and  weary, 

And  the  hours  complain, 
There  all  my  longings,  dark  and  dreary, 

Rise  from  their  care  and  pain. 

Friend's  eyes  look  joyfully  upon  me, 

Their  words  I  hear, 
Pleasure  again  has  sought  and  won  me, 

Lights  in  my  sky  appear. 
Freed  from  the  chains  of  fleeting  sorrow, 

On  the  waves  of  song, 
Forward  I  speed  unto  a  morrow 

Pure  of  the  shadow  of  wrong. 


Oft,  happy,  thus  I  pass  and  listen 

Unto  clear  strains, 
Which  make  the  eyes  unused  to  glisten 

Fill  up  with  short-lived  rains; 
And  the  seasons  shall  not  bring  me 

Anything  more  dear 
Than  Music  with  the  power  to  sing  me 

Into  its  nobler  cheer. 

THE  BELL 

Ages  on  ages  in  the  seething  earth 

You  lay  unformed  and  waiting  to  be  born; 
Great  stars  were  pouring  down  such  light  in  mirth 

As  should  the  first  strong  growth  of  worlds  adorn; 
The  bubbling  masses  cooled  and  flamed  amain, 

The  play  of  forces  wrought  a  wondrous  change, 
The  hissing  waters  fled  the  vague  vast  plain 

Watched  of  some  new  and  mighty  mountain  range; 
Thick  grasses  flowed  unto  the  firm-based  rock, 

The  race  of  men  trod  through  the  smiling  space, 
The  peaceful  murmur  rose  of  herd  and  flock, 

The  light  grew  brilliant  in  the  earth's  fair  face; 
Then  they  made  you,  who  answered  with  a  sound 
That  echoed  all  the  grand  uprise  and  round. 


ART  FOR  ART'S  SAKE 

I 

It  cannot  be  the  sun;  out  of  the  sea 
A  sombre  glory  rises,  and  the  air 
Thrills  as  with  longing;  all  the  landscape  fair 

Shows  weird  beneath  the  outpouring  vast  and  free 

Of  that  mist-clothed  effulgence;  nor  do  we 
Know  whither  we  are  led,  save  that  'tis  where 
The  dwellings  cease  of  gentle  joy  and  care 

And  love  for  what  has  not  yet  come  to  be. 

Under  the  dream-light  ever;  lo!  vague  shapes 
Tread  the  smooth  lawns  and  fade  monotonous, 

And,  sailing  past  far-seen  and  perilous  capes, 
Tall  ships  go  forth  on  quests  that  have  for  us 

The  fascination  and  the  wondrous  pain 

That  they  those  outland  shores  may  never  gain. 

II 

Farther  into  the  labyrinth;  more  and  more 
The  dread  light  brazens,  and  the  songs  awake 
Of  a  large  woe  that  sings  for  pleasure's  sake; 
Dark  ghosts  of  passions,  whose  fierce  anguish  tore 
The  mad  souls  of  the  elder  time  and  bore 

Their  frenzies  toward  the  dull-starred  stream  and 
lake 

132 


Where  Destiny's  multiformed  pale  blossoms  break, 
Resume  the  robes  their  baffled  fantasies  wore. 

Lo!  there  beneath  the  white-flowered  almond  tree 
Clear  naked  dreams  in  half  rejoicing  dance, 
And,  yonder,  many  a  golden,  glittering  lance, 

Halting  in  woods  a-nigh  the  sobbing  sea; 

But  through  the  bitter  splendour  of  the  trance, 

The  moan  of  death  that  must  forever  be. 

Ill 

Nay,  let  me  break  the  languor;  from  the  glooms 
Of  lust  and  sin,  the  strains  of  palsied  fear, 
The  cries  for  things  that  have  no  lodgment  here 

Nor  in  the  life  that  may  be,  from  the  tombs 

Self-made,  and  hopes  far  worse  than  any  dooms, 
Let  me  escape,  the  prison-house  so  drear 
With  the  vexed  shining  and  the  flaunting  veer 

Of  flames  in  which  the  pageant  dims  and  looms. 

The  enchantment  wavers  and  a  wind  of  fate 
Sweeps  the  wild  whirl  into  the  deep  abyss; 
The  clear  fields  laugh  again  and  small  waves  kiss 

The  patient  shores;  the  harvests  glow  and  wait; 

The  slender  smoke-wreaths  curl  and  dissipate 
From  simple  roofs  and  settled  home-bred  bliss. 


133 


ON  THE  SEA 

Strange  is  it,  the  winds  and  seas  take  your  part; 

How  dared  I  pass  from  your  dear  eyes  ? 

For  the  stars  shine  not  upon  the  night, 

And  the  moon  is  begirt  with  thickest  cloud, 

And  the  eye  of  the  sun  glares  fierce  in  the  East 

When  morning  bares  the  earth  to  his  wrath. 

The  voice  of  the  winds  is  in  mine  ears, 

And  the  sound  of  the  waves  is  heard  in  scorn, 

And  the  storm  sits  throned  in  the  mid-most  sky; 

How  art  thou,  far  one,  a  natural  power 

That  thy  scorn  pursues  me  over  the  main, 

And  thy  sister  clouds  jeer  in  thick  rain 

The  losel  who  dared  to  leave  thy  side  ? 

No  more,  no  more;  O  winds  and  storms, 

Drive  me  apace  the  distance  across 

That  holds  me  from  her;  yea,  at  her  feet 

I  will  bow,  and  lay  down  all  pride  of  life 

To  take  from  her  hands  what  she  will  give 

Of  being  and  hope  and  joy  and  breath. 

INSIGHT 

I  heard  a  voice  from  the  fast  darkening  skies 
Shiver  across  my  hearing  the  great  woe 
Of  a  grim  message,  that  fell  sad  and  slow: 

"Let  not  another  lingering  prayer  arise 

'34 


From  lip  or  soul;  uplift  no  more  your  eyes 

Unto  the  Height  where  once  there  seemed  to  glow 
A  Sovereign  Mind  whom  all  the  spheres  could 
know, 

Since  Changeless  Law  forbids  the  vain  surmise." 

Yet  from  my  heart  the  eager  protest  comes: 
"Nay,  Sense  and  Law  are  not  the  whole  of  life, 
I  see  the  realm  beyond  them,  high  and  clear; 
I  know  firm  Faith's  convincing  martyrdoms, 

I  know  the  Peace  which  rounds  this  passing  strife, 
I  know  the  Love  which  rids  the  world  of  fear." 

LOST 

Hast  thou  seen  the  wraith  of  the  garden, 

With  face  so  pallid  and  chill, 
And  eyes  that  dare  not  ask  pardon 

For  the  deeds  of  a  perverse  will  ? 

At  night  when  I  lie  in  slumber 

It  paces  the  garden  space, 
And  my  dark-skied  dreams  without  number 

Are  the  thoughts  that  gloom  in  its  face. 

From  the  deeps  of  eternal  night-time 

It  sped  to  life's  wide  plain, 
And  when  the  sun  brings  the  bright-time 

It  finds  a  seat  in  my  brain. 

'35 


THE  SIREN 

O  lady  fair  of  the  subtle  ways, 

And  voice  tremblingly  tender, 
Delicate  with  length  of  languid  days, 
O  star  of  serene  splendour, 

Surely  your  thoughts  are  soft  as  silk, 
Surely  each  dream  that  near  you  stays 
Is  whiter  than  the  foamy  milk. 

Have  you  a  heart  that  knoweth  scorn  ? 

A  hope  less  sweet  than  roses  ? 
In  the  pale  moonlight  you  were  born, 
When  bitter  fear  reposes, 

In  a  clear  vale  your  minutes  sped, 
Whence  banished  every  sound  forlorn 

Left  space  for  peace  and  joyance  wed. 

Your  footsteps  like  a  pure  stream  pass, 

Smooth  wavelet  upon  wavelet, 
Your  voice's  murmurs  clear  as  glass 
Show  pity  your  mere  slavelet, 

Your  tears  like  rain  from  summer  skies 
That  fall  to  soothe  the  thirsting  grass 
Are  pursuivants  to  gentle  sighs. 

The  roses  of  your  cheeks  grow  pale, 

Your  pansy  eyes  with  weeping 
Suffuse  as  on  the  winds  a  tale 


Its  dolorous  moan  is  keeping, 

Your  slender  body  shakes  with  pain 
When  you  must  hear  how  nought  avail 
Some  lovers'  bitter  strife  and  strain. 

Ah,  you  are  made  for  stilly  nooks 

In  life's  serene  seclusion, 
Whose  windless  calm  but  rarely  brooks 
The  sovereign  sun's  intrusion, 

Whose  silver-stepping  minutes  frame 
A  paradise  of  song  and  books 

Untouched  by  aught  of  woe  or  blame. 

Your  modest-lidded  eyes  are  stars 

That  lead  to  lands  where  passion 
Subdues  its  fire,  and  raises  bars 

Gainst  hopes  life's  strength  would  fashion; 

O  lady  chaste,  O  fairy  queen, 
Like  drowning  sailors  clutching  spars 
We  cling  unto  your  face  and  mien. 

What  would  you  have  ?     We  are  your  slaves, 

Our  inmost  hearts  adore  you; 
It  is  your  voice,  your  look  that  saves 
The  souls  that  bow  before  you; 

What  would  you  have  ?    Your  smile  or  frown 
Fills  us  with  life  of  in  deep  graves 

Sinks  our  impetuous  longings  down. 
137 


Have  you  strange  words  more  keen  than  swords  ? 

Have  you  looks  cold  as  winter  ? 
Have  you  wild  songs  whose  flow  accords 
With  Circe's  lips,  imprinter 

Of  the  foul  stain  on  mortal  limbs 
Which  swells  the  roll  of  brutish  hordes 
To  ease  her  ever-changing  whims  ? 

I  cannot  fathom  your  weird  spells 

Nor  wondrous  soul's  swift  changes, 
I  gaze  with  fear  upon  the  dells 

Where  your  wild  bird-thought  ranges, 

Lest  you  feed  on  sweet,  poisonous  flowers 
And  drink  the  waters  of  strange  wells 
Within  dim  shadow-peopled  bowers. 

I  see  you  tread  the  downward  path 

To  lands  of  chillest  mystery, 
Where  Hate  within  the  realms  of  Wrath 
Sits  King  of  the  consistory 

Of  bitter  Scorns  and  grievous  Pains, 
And  reaps  the  dolorous  aftermath 

Of  Hopes  all  dead  and  soaked  with  rains. 

Your  smiles  are  cold  as  northern  ice, 

Your  eyes  are  hard  and  cruel, 
You  are  adept  in  all  device 

To  heap  enkindling  fuel 

138 


On  smouldering  ashes  of  dull  fires 
Whose  sinking  past  all  hope  and  price 

Brings  rest  from  woe  of  fierce  desires. 

Yea,  you  can  weep  at  some  old  song 

Of  thwarted  lovers'  anguish, 
And  the  sweet  luxury  prolong 
Wherein  you  love  to  languish 

Of  grief  at  fabled  sorrowing  hearts, 
But  you  can  do  most  bitter  wrong, 

And  smile  at  pangs  your  skill  imparts. 

O  siren,  direr,  crueler  far 

Than  those  of  story  olden, 
O  bitter-boding  flaming  star, 
O  splendour  ominous,  golden, 

Why  will  you  haunt  our  shuddering  skies, 
Why  will  you  burst  the  bond  and  bar 

That  shields  us  from  your  mighty  eyes  ? 

Have  you  no  pity  on  the  souls 

Who  struggle  in  the  prison 
Your  smiles  have  built,  and  round  which  rolls 
The  moan  of  woe  arisen 

From  hearts  of  men  in  the  dead  years, 
From  hearts  across  whose  winter  tolls 
The  passing  bell  of  falling  tears  ? 

O  all  ye  in  the  ages  past 

Who  have  borne  the  heavy  burden 

139 


Of  bitter  love  chill  smiles  could  blast, 
Who  bore  for  love's  sweet  guerdon 

Scorn's  biting  cold  and  storm  of  hate, 
I  call  upon  you  thus  at  last 

This  poisonous  spell  to  dissipate. 

O  legions  of  the  happy  dead, 

O  dwellers  in  the  spirit, 
O  you  unto  the  joyance  wed 
Which  we,  who  flutter  near  it, 

And  then  are  thrust  back  to  the  abyss, 
Hunger  for  though  all  hope  be  fled, 
Help  us  in  war  on  woe  like  this. 

O  all  true  lovers  hear  this  cry 
Out  of  my  depth  of  sorrow, 
Be  unto  my  sad  need  anigh, 
And  fill  my  changing  morrow 

With  your  consolements  sounding  soft 
Above  the  place  wherein  I  lie, 

And  bear  my  soul  to  you  aloft. 

Bring  all  true  hearts  unto  that  place 

Which  is  your  golden  dwelling, 
And  through  the  clear  miraculous  space, 
All  bitter  thoughts  expelling, 

Floats  that  high  song  of  blessedness 
Which  shines  in  true  love's  eyes  and  face 
And  moulds  in  tone  love's  each  caress. 
140 


Unto  that  garden  bring  not  near 
Her  who  has  much  to  answer, 
But  hold  her  far  until  her  fear 
Have  power  to  disentrance  her, 

And  from  her  solitude  arise 
Her  anguished  heart's  deep  voices  clear 
In  longings  for  love's  paradise. 

When  she  hath  purged  her  of  her  sin, 

And  found  her  deep-self  wearied 
Of  her  perfections,  bring  her  in 
From  her  hours  dull  and  drearied, 
And  once  again  let  her  soul  know 
How  fleets  the  time  which  those  hearts  win 
Who  never  anguish  others  so. 

There  in  that  realm  of  light  and  blooms 

Shall  be  the  unbroken  pleasure 
Which  is  true  love's;  all  bitter  dooms 
Passed  through  their  due  and  measure, 

She  too  redeemed  and  by  the  star 
Whose  tenderness  allures,  illumes, 

Held  with  great  strength  from  pain  afar. 


141 


SONGS 

I 

Upon  the  sea  of  your  eyes, 

Like  ships  upon  the  sea, 
I  watch  your  swift  thoughts  rise 

With  a  passion  of  rarest  glee. 

The  moon  is  lord  of  the  sea, 

Its  waves  are  slaves  to  that  power; 

Oh,  would  I  forever  might  be 

Your  soul-sea's  moon  from  this  hour! 

II 

Although  your  eye  most  heavily  lidded  is, 

You  cannot  hide 
The  secret  of  Love's  sweet  cupidities, 

I  know  my  bride. 

Although  your  low  words  are  mysterious, 

I  catch  their  sense; 
No  more  my  brow  shall  be  most  serious, 

My  joys  commence. 

Although  the  tremulous  spring  belated  be, 

Warm  days  will  come; 
Not  long  the  singing  birds  unmated  be, 

Nor  cold  benumb. 
142 


The  goal  is  near  for  which  we  striven  have, 

O  love,  O  sweet, 
I  know  that  you  my  fear  forgiven  have, 

And  sad  defeat. 

Behold  the  earth  with  flowers  engirded  is, 

The  time  is  here; 
And  now  my  love  most  subtly  worded  is, 

Morn's  lights  appear. 

Ill 

Rose-bud,  rose-bud,  bloom  apace, 

Linger  not  so  long; 
Singer,  singer,  shed  the  grace 

Of  your  silver  song. 

April,  April,  pass  in  rain, 

Leave  the  year  to  May; 
Sorrow,  sorrow,  burst  your  chain, 

Youth  should  still  be  gay. 

Wave,  O  fleet  wave,  fall  in  glee 

On  your  lover-shore; 
Moon,  O  pale  moon,  touch  the  sea 

With  your  heart's  white  core. 

Wind,  O  swift  wind,  seek  your  nest 

In  the  lofty  pine; 
Bee,  O  wild  bee,  you  are  blest 

Where  your  blossoms  shine! 


Love,  O  glad  Love,  what  would  you 
Have  your  servant  say? 

Rise,  O  sun,  across  the  dew, 
Bring  the  golden  day! 


ASYMPTOTE 

Heart  of  my  life,  shalt  thou  ever  be  far  from  me, 

Parted  by  all  the  body's  space, 
O  that  the  form  that  fashions  the  bar  from  thee 

Love  or  some  god  might  wholly  displace. 

As  the  swift  days  and  the  nights  pass  over  thee, 
Nearer  thy  heart  my  bowed  heart  climbs, 

Closelier  now  do  mine  eyes  discover  thee, 

Surer  with  thine  my  deep  thought  rhymes. 

O  that  some  fate  might  shatter  the  chains  of  us, 
Setting  our  souls  more  free  than  the  air, 

Changing  to  joys  the  bitterest  pains  of  us, 
Making  us  one  past  severance  of  care! 


UNEXPLAINED 

I  loved  her  well,  I  loved  her  true, 
Her  smile  was  my  life's  purest  star, 

She  ruled  in  every  thought  I  knew, 
She  led  my  soul  from  earth  afar. 
144 


Her  touch  upon  my  hand  was  fire, 
Her  eyes  were  all  my  sun  and  moon, 

And  at  her  word  my  fierce  desire 
Fell  into  form  and  numbered  tune. 

I  know  not  how,  but  so  it  came, 

That  our  souls  sundered,  swept  apart, 

I  sought  but  found  not  whose  the  blame, 
Nor  what  divided  heart  from  heart. 

I  only  know,  one  day  it  fell, 

She  spoke  some  words  quite  faint  and  low, 
And  I  beneath  a  wizard's  spell 

Answered  with  a  quaint  smile  and  slow. 

I  had  no  skill  to  render  clear 
The  anguish  that  fulfilled  my  soul, 

But  from  that  day,  to  my  great  fear, 
A  bitter  change  upon  her  stole. 

Therefore  I  walk  my  life  alone, 
We  have  not  met  for  year  and  day, 

And  night  that  should  with  lights  be  sown 
Surrounds  me  with  unstarred  dismay. 

INDRA,  GOD  OF  THE  SKY 

Indra,  my  Indra,  hearken  to  me, 

The  night  fleets  by  from  the  gradual  sea. 

'45 


Indra,  my  Indra,  the  sun  leaps  forth, 

The  great  sky  flushes  to  south  and  to  north. 

Now  the  deep  blue  glows  stainless  above, 
The  clouds  speed  on,  swift  angels  of  love. 

Indra,  O  god  of  the  round  wide  sky, 
Sitting  enthroned  and  light-girdled  on  high, 

Master  of  worlds  and  centre  of  song, 

Bid  the  pure  clouds  bear  my  message  along. 

Over  her  dwelling  hover  and  bend, 
Into  her  heart  your  radiance  send; 

And  if  you  can,  make  her  the  more  wise 
In  the  clear  gentleness  filling  your  eyes; 

But  if  so  far  she  has  gone  in  that  lore, 
Not  even  you  can  lead  her  forth  more, 

Hitherward  cause  her  to  turn  her  pure  gaze 
Mixed  with  your  own  unvarying  blaze, 

And  fill  all  our  souls  with  that  purity  high 
To  be  kindred  with  her  and  the  God  of  the  Sky. 


THREEFOLD 

Youth  paints  the  new  advancing  years 

In  tints  of  ruddy  fire, 
And  all  the  future  fair  appears 

With  hope  and  strong  desire. 

The  middle  mind  makes  Time's  wings  black, 
How  slow  his  clipped  advance! 

And  dull  the  rain-swept  darkling  track 
Where  shone  Joy's  earlier  dance. 

But  latter  knowledge  clears  the  skies, 

A  day  that  has  no  night, 
The  insight  on  whose  calm  arise 

The  truths  forever  bright. 

All  life  lies  open,  glad,  serene, 

The  mysteries  unfold 
Into  the  love  whose  ardour  keen 

Clothes  every  hour  in  gold. 

MOLL  PITCHER 
BATTLE  OF  MONMOUTH,  1777 

Where  the  thickest  smoke  of  the  battle  rolled, 

And  the  whistle  of  bullets  rang  sharp  and  clear, 
Beside  his  piece  the  old  gunner  stood 

H7 


And  sighted  and  shot  devoid  of  fear. 
Such  havoc  his  unintermittent  play 

Had  made  in  the  ranks  of  the  angered  foe, 
They  had  charged  and  charged  on  his  little  hill 

But  still  he  had  parried  their  every  blow. 

With  his  blackened  hands  and  his  grimy  face, 

And  his  eyes  aflame  with  a  purpose  dread, 
His  lips  set  firm  in  a  changeless  smile, 

Like  the  smile  in  the  face  of  a  strong  man  dead, 
He  laboured  all  day  at  his  terrible  toil, 

He  laboured  all  day  with  a  terrible  joy, 
And  watched  his  death-winged  messengers  fleet 

On  their  fatally  swift  and  savage  employ. 

Beside  old  Pitcher  his  sturdy  wife 

Had  stood  and  braved  the  brunt  of  the  fight, 
And  her  passionate  words  had  nerved  his  heart 

To  a  grimmer,  more  resistless  might. 
Like  his  soul  incarnate  beside  him  she  stood, 

And  the  words  that  welled  from  her  fearless  breast 
Seemed  the  very  thoughts  that  rolled  through  his 
brain, 

And  made  up  his  being's  truest  and  best. 

All  day  from  the  clear  bubbling  spring  hard  by 
Her  unwearied  hands  the  cool  water  had  brought, 

All  day  with  her  eloquent  words  of  cheer 

Her  unwearied  soul  on  the  soldiers  had  wrought, 
148 


Till  the  fire  of  her  spirit  had  seized  on  them  all, 
Till  they  fought  as  only  strong  men  can  fight, 

Aroused  from  the  sleep  of  their  daily  life, 

For  the  highest  they  know,  for  the  just,  for  the 
right. 

In  the  afternoon,  when  the  fight  was  hot, 

And  the  desperate  foe  gathered  all  his  strength 
For  a  final  attack  that  should  end  the  fray, 

And  give  him  his  dear  bought  victory  at  length, 
The  fate-sped  bullet  clove  sharp  through  the  air, 

And  buried  itself  in  brave  Pitcher's  brain, 
And  dead  at  the  feet  of  his  wife  standing  near 

He  fell  without  time  to  speak  or  complain. 

What  time  had  she  then  for  her  private  grief? 

What  time  had  she  then  for  sorrow  and  tears  ? 
She  crushed  in  her  heart  all  womanish  pain, 

She  cast  to  the  winds  all  womanish  fears, 
And  rushed  to  his  side,  and  snatched  from  his  hand 

The  blackened  swab,  then  silent  and  bold 
Set  herself  to  her  task  till  across  the  field 

The  flaming  thunder  of  the  cannon  rolled. 

Through  the  rest  of  the  fight,  till  the  twilight  fell, 

She  sighted  and  shot  devoid  of  fear, 
Though  the  smoke  of  battle  grew  thick  and  dun, 
Though  the  bullets  whirled  round  her  sharp  and 
clear. 

149 


There  dead  at  her  feet  her  husband  lay, 
And  dead  in  her  heart  lay  the  joy  of  years, 

And  glazed  in  an  anguish,  frozen  and  fierce, 
Unshed  in  her  eyes  shone  the  bitter  tears. 

O  my  country!  a  hundred  years  ago, 

The  love  of  you  in  all  hearts  flamed, 
Till  the  enemy  back  from  our  cities  and  fields, 

Crept  to  his  lair,  defeated,  ashamed. 
And  we,  their  children,  whose  lofty  deeds 

Like  brave  Moll  Pitcher's  built  up  our  land, 
Are  called  in  a  fight  more  difficult  far 

Beside  our  cannon  unflinching  to  stand. 

O  my  country  women!  the  anguished  time 

Bids  you  sight  your  cannon  and  boldly  fire, 
Till  oppression  and  wrong  that  infest  our  land 

Are  shrivelled  in  the  blaze  of  your  noble  ire, 
Till  licensed  injustice  is  hurled  into  flight, 

Till  unabashed  plunder  is  hidden  from  view; 
O  my  country  women,  shrink  not  from  the  fight 

Wherein  our  country  has  need  of  you. 

FREEDOM  AND  THE  WEST 

Across  the  fierce  and  rolling  sea 

Came  Freedom,  strong  and  peerless; 

The  storm  shook  earth  and  bent  the  tree, 
She  stood  serene  and  fearless; 
150 


She  raised  her  banner  to  the  sky, 
She  called  her  sons  around  her,  - 

Before  her,  broken,  shivered,  lie 

The  chains  that  once  had  bound  her. 

She  heard  through  many  bitter  hours 

The  voice  of  loud  complaining, 
She  felt  the  growth  of  nobler  powers, 

She  saw  the  gloom  was  waning. 
No  child  of  hers  but  should  awake 

Into  a  Nation's  gladness; 
The  whole  world's  goodness  was  at  stake, 

The  conquest  of  old  sadness. 

She  comes  the  victor  from  the  fight, 

She  stills  the  angry  murmur; 
She  holds  aloft  the  blazing  light, 

Her  life  grows  firm  and  firmer. 
She  bears  within  her  all  the  past, 

She  calls  unto  her  table 
All  men,  and  bids  them  make  at  last 

The  reign  of  Peace  most  stable. 

ON  A  BOOK  OF  POEMS 
(To  E.  C.  S.) 

Once  again  the  olden 

Joyance  blossoms  fair; 
Once  again  the  golden 

Accents  thrill  the  air; 


Once  again  we  listen 
To  the  mellow  strain, 

Gaze  where  song-waves  glisten 
On  that  music's  main. 

Clear  as  erst  the  message, 

Voice  as  nobly  true, 
Sweet  the  wondrous  presage 

Of  the  dreams  we  knew, 
Dreams  that  with  the  magic 

Of  that  singing  rise, 
Sweeping  every  tragic 

Cloud  from  off  our  skies. 

Realms  that  light  has  builded 

Song  has  ever  known, 
Seas  that  joy  has  gilded 

Verse  has  ever  shown, 
And  the  gentler  Muses 

Here  again  have  sent 
What  no  heart  refuses 

Of  hope's  blandishment. 

THE  WESTERN  MUSE 

In  the  space  that  is  not  space, 
In  the  time  that  is  not  time, 

I  saw  an  Idea  fair, 
And  free  as  an  unused  rhyme. 
152 


How  shall  I  speak  in  words 
Which  limit  and  which  bind 

The  form  of  the  high  Thought, 
How  bring  the  Shape  to  mind  ? 

Pure  and  noble  she  is, 

With  forward  looking  eyes, 

Eager,  and  strong,  and  large, 
Clear  as  the  stainless  skies. 

Where  shall  she  find  a  home  ? 

She  gazed  on  the  stormy  seas 
That  beat  on  a  rock-bound  coast 

West  of  the  Hebrides. 

She  sped  across  the  main 

And  paused  where  the  rivers  fair 
Break  in  the  golden  light 

Under  the  mountain  air. 

Gladdened  she  paused  and  looked 
Across  the  prairied  expanse, 

And  something  softer  passed 
Into  her  mighty  glance. 

There  she  descended  and  dwelt, 
A  presence,  a  power,  a  strength, 

And  the  hearts  of  all  men  knew 
Her  touch  upon  them  at  length. 

153 


And  some  with  souls  more  akin 
Saw  her  more  deeply  and  well, 

Found  their  lives  mix  with  hers 
Under  her  potent  spell. 

These  spake  for  her  aloud, 
Uttered  her  messages  new, 

Clothed  her  subtlest  high  dreams 
In  Beauty  bright  as  the  dew. 

Heart  of  the  growing  West, 

Lady,  noble,  divine, 
Lay  your  spell  on  the  land, 

Make  all  its  spaces  shine! 

Temple  and  picture  bright, 
Poem  and  Music  sweet, 

Come  forth  at  her  command, 
Worship  at  her  dear  feet; 

One  of  the  Angels  high, 

That  rule  all  the  sister  lands, 

One  more  gracious  might 
Binding  in  golden  bands 

Nations  and  speeding  times, 
Full  of  a  love  most  rare, 

Knowing  that  each  man  is  best, 
And  all  the  world  is  fair. 
154 


FOR  A  CHILD 
Miss  N.  C.  G. 

My  dear  little  friend, 

These  gentle  words  I  send 

With  my  best  love  unto  you 

To  whom  I  am  ever  true. 

May  you  read  in  the  cards 

Good  luck  and  light, 

And  sleep  without  dreaming 

Through  every  night. 

I  am  one  of  those  bards 

Who  pierce  through  the  seeming, 

And  know  that  my  words 

Are  carrier  birds 

From  the  realms  of  truth 

To  your  all  expecting  youth. 

So  my  wishes  flow 

In  a  deepening  stream  of  goldening  glow. 

May  you  never  fail  to  see 

Red  ripe  apples  on  every  tree; 

Ride  in  the  very  strongest  boat 

When  you  chance  to  be  afloat; 

Hear  no  song  that  is  not  sweet, 

Never  dance  with  tiring  feet; 

Always  have  a  friend  beside  you 

Whatsoever  fates  betide  you; 

'55 


Know  what  dreams  and  music  tell, 
Richer  far  than  fairy  land, 
When  you  rise  unto  the  spell 
Of  their  guidance  mystic,  grand; 
All  the  silver  stars  be  kind 
To  your  winsome  happy  mind, 
And  your  dear  eyes  ever  see 
Lands  as  fair  as  Arcadie! 

THE  MOUNTAINEER 

O  mountaineer,  O  mountaineer, 

What  means  your  song  so  heavenly  clear  ? 

Surely  your  inmost  heart  must  know 
The  voice  which  lures  us  upward  far, 

Rich  tones  which  from  the  sunrise  flow, 
And  accents  of  the  evening  star. 

Nay,  rest  you  here,  nor  longer  stray 
Beyond  the  confines  of  the  day. 

But  something  holds  me  to  the  search 
Past  village  bound  and  home-like  cheer, 

Beyond  the  lessening  oak  and  birch, 
And  gliding  rivers,  smooth  and  dear. 

Yet  there  is  danger  where  you  tread 
And  lonely  is  the  mountain's  head. 


I  cannot  rest  until  I  see 

Pure  of  the  mists  that  wander  here 
The  glitter  of  the  waters  free 

And  waves  that  ever  move  and  veer. 

What  profit  in  the  distant  sight, 

Or  strength  which  comes  from  that  rare  light  ? 

A  message  from  the  outlands  far 

Across  those  heaving  waves  shall  glide, 

Mystic,  and  from  a  nobler  star, 

Close  to  your  deepmost  soul  allied. 

Can  you  not  hear  beneath  the  boughs 
Whose  silence  every  tone  allows  ? 

Ah,  through  your  boughs  there  ever  go 
Faint  echoes  of  your  toil  and  life, 

Dim,  sad  reminders  of  the  woe 

Which  comes  from  anger  and  from  strife. 

Will  you  return  from  your  strange  quest 
Into  the  valley's  peace  and  rest  ? 

I  shall  return  when  I  have  heard 

The  song  upon  the  mountain's  brow, 

Sweeter  than  notes  of  any  bird, 

Finer  than  aught  that  guides  me  now. 

157 


What  of  the  voice  you  long  to  be, 
Can  that  do  aught  for  you  or  me  ? 

The  message  from  the  nobler  star 

Shall  fill  my  song  with  meaning  sweet, 

Whose  strength  shall  burst  the  bond  and  bar 
Which  hold  slow  Good's  yet  lingering  feet. 

Lo!  how  the  snows  are  white  ahead, 
And  many  a  wanderer  there  lies  dead. 

If  I  shall  fall,  another  soul, 

Stronger  and  larger  far  than  mine, 

Shall  hear  the  music's  thunder-roll 
And  see  the  gradual  golden  shine. 

It  cannot  be  of  sure  avail 

And  you  like  all  the  rest  will  fail. 

Some  day  the  message  and  the  song 
Shall  fill  the  world  and  make  it  clear 

That  nought  than  these  can  be  more  strong, 
And  nought  than  these  can  be  more  dear. 

THE   END 


158 


Block,   L*jL 

13651 
m 

Many  moods 

and  rastny  min 

ds 

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861072 


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